


After This

by Karinshastha



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Nightmares, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8803897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karinshastha/pseuds/Karinshastha
Summary: "Rachel once remarked that only stupid people have good relationships. That must make you a fucking genius."In the aftermath of the devastation wrought by her decision to sacrifice Arcadia Bay, Max begins to suffer through grim nightmares that threaten to undo her. Chloe, softened by her best friend's undying devotion to her, vows to do whatever it takes to protect her. In the process, the pair discovers a timeless bond that transcends love, friendship, and even the two of them.





	1. Words Are Too Feeble

Your gaze through the windshield of your rusted out, beaten truck is glued to the sun’s orange haze filtering through red-and-yellow fractal leaves in the tree branches passing silently overhead. You drive carefully along winding, pock-marked roads because you’ve softened, you and your blue hair with the roots coming back in, the way you do when your dipped-in-shit life of five years has been returned to you with a love that fills you to bursting and shatters your fragile body in the places where limbs and joints end and the world begins.

Your best friend Max – never Maxine – has her mop of brownish hair turned away from you so you can’t see the tears falling silently from her eyes between ragged breaths that remind you of the way she panted with rain-soaked cheeks atop the cliff next to the lighthouse. You stood there, hand in hand with her, as you watched the largest tornado you had ever seen descend on your hometown and stroke it with a deadly caress that took the lives of people you had never met but who must have been important to somebody the way you are to Max.

In the glow of the autumn sunset you spy the familiar sight of a gas station and a lone attendant sweeping the lot. The dispenser nozzle is pumping gasoline before you realize you’ve stopped. Five minutes, two sandwiches, and fifty dollars later, you’re moving again. You paid with bills from the horse-choking wad of cash earmarked for the local academy’s handicapped fund for a building that no longer stands. Max let you pocket it so you could repay a loan you took out from a drug-dealing acquaintance to run off with a girl you thought you loved – you thought loved you – then pretended it didn’t exist when you met with him because she knew you’d need it. Somehow, she knew.

Your friend’s eyes are looking forward now. So are yours, but you’re thinking about clouds and sleep and dreams and anything but the mundane details of day-to-day living. If you could drink your bodyweight in coffee and write novels about the sudden explosion of emotion within your chest you’d have written a library full of words that are too feeble to contain what you’re feeling right now. The life that you cursed to infinity the day your father died – and later, when Max’s parents moved her to a place far north of Arcadia Bay that you had only read about in geography books – that life had been returned to you, a timeless gift from one of the few people that still gives a damn about you.

Max told you she wanted to go back to her parents’ house in Seattle, back to the only place that either of you can think of that offers the kind of comfort you need right now. It’s the type of assurance that lets you breathe and exist without having to agonize over bodies, wreckage, and broken relationships. You’re hardened after years of living with a stepfather who treated you like a soldier and even hit you once when he thought you got out of line. Max righted a five year absence in five days and you were ready to forgive your mother’s second husband, even if forgiving’s a hard thing to do.

The sun has gone to sleep when you near the state line. It’s warm enough in October that you don’t need a blanket in the front of your truck at night. Max has already dozed off with her head against the side of the dirt-hued interior of your ill-kept truck with her mouth half-open in the manner of a child. You ball up your jacket behind you in the driver’s seat, then gently reach your right arm around your friend’s waist and pull the back of her head down against your sternum into a sleepy half-embrace that neither of you is awake enough to protest. The rhythm of her breathing against your ribcage sings you to sleep the way your mother did when you were young, very young.

Moments later your eyes open to the ambient heat of the morning sun kissing your cheeks and jawline through the windows. Something presses against your abdomen.

“Chloe, I need some air.”

“Sure thing, Max.”

You open the driver’s door and swing your legs out onto patchy green grass that receives your faux-punk boots without complaint. You clasp your hands behind your back and gently press against the edge of the ratty blue seat cushion ( _pop-pop-pop_ between your shoulder blades). There’s a sudden hand on your bare, tattooed shoulder, so you turn and watch as Max lazes out of the truck with the long strap of her book bag still clinging to her neck. She steps in front of you and arches her shoulders around the hood of her zippered grey sweatshirt. Your knees buckle for a fraction of a section before you right yourself; then and there you vow to give up cigarettes for as long as you can stand to so your friend doesn’t have to smell like you feel most of the time. Because you’re never leaving her.

Not after this.


	2. In My Dreams

Chloe and I drove out of Arcadia Bay with nothing more than the clothes we were wearing and whatever was in our pockets. I kept the handicapped fund money from Principal Wells’ office in my tote bag. I thought he would probably skim off the top for his personal whiskey fund and Dog knows what else, so I didn’t feel so bad about taking it. What made me sick to my stomach, though, was the thought of giving a huge chunk of it to a drug dealer whose dope was responsible for dosing our friends Kate and Rachel. And now neither of them will have the chance to live out their lives and chase their dreams like Chloe and I will. My heart is broken into a million little pieces.

I was so fucked up that I couldn’t bring myself to look at my best friend in the world as tears streamed down my face. A mess of dirty fingerprints on the passenger window failed to blot out the contorted, lifeless faces I saw drawn by the wind-swirls of autumn leaves and etched into the sides of distant sandstone slopes. Those awful images made me think of the animals we had seen crossing the main road on our way out of town. There were more of them than I had ever seen, bushy-tailed does and bright-eyed blue jays, all gathered in the same spot as if the forest had shooed them away for spring cleaning.

I thought to myself that those must have been the spirit animals of the townspeople who had passed on, saying their final goodbyes before making the journey to the next life. And I sent them there. _I_ did, me and my unraveling mind. I was beginning to think that my powers – the ones that were responsible for all this – weren’t so different from the powers wielded by the asshole who killed Chloe’s friend Rachel and buried her tarp-wrapped body in a shallow grave.

They were sickening thoughts. Even sicker was that I believed them.

I wept silently until I was too exhausted to cry any more. Before I knew it, I was sleeping or hallucinating – I couldn’t really tell which. All I know is that I felt a strong desire to walk back to Arcadia Bay to see whether anyone was still alive.

So, I did. I walked for hours and hours. I walked until my feet hurt and my throat was dry. The sun went down and the moon came up. The night sky guided me through rugged peaks and the cool, misty air of the lowlands back to the familiar spruce and hemlock trees that greeted me with the sunrise as I made my way through the dew-soaked huckleberry fields just east of Arcadia Bay. I headed straight for the diner where I had last seen Joyce and Warren tending to some of the townsfolk who had taken shelter there from the tornado.

To my astonishment, people were walking around amid the wreckage as if nothing had happened. Joyce was standing outside the front door of the blown-out restaurant with her apron on, pouring herself a cup of coffee that rested on the detached hood of a semi-truck. Warren was standing next to her with a first aid kit, asking passersby whether they needed any bandages. Nobody did. To my left, I saw Evan taking picture after picture of a beached whale that sat atop a pile of rubble where the post office once stood.

Before I could even say hello to him, he turned his thick-rimmed, black glasses toward me and flashed me the toothiest grin ever. “Won’t these look great in my portfolio, Max?” His lips didn’t move at all.

I stared at him, stone-faced, as his head swiveled slowly on an unmoving body back to the view finder of the camera he held rigidly in the claw-like fingers of both hands. _Click-click-click-click-click!_ went the shutter until the snapping amplified itself and became the reverberating, fuzz-distorted beats of a church bell’s clapper. I had never wanted to twist my own head off so badly.

“Max! Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Joyce’s cheery voice pierced my skull and I recoiled in pain, clutching my head in both hands. When I looked up, I saw her running toward me desperately with outstretched, zombie-like arms and an uncharacteristically blank expression on her face. As she neared me, I noticed to my horror that her face was… _literally blank_?!

I shrieked and darted away – _fuck_ this post-apocalyptic bullshit. It was then that Warren’s GPS on me must have come back online, because my phone started blowing up with text messages that I apparently missed while I was walking to town. Did I leave it on silent mode again?

As if to punish me for ignoring him, Warren greeted me with a Dana-Ward’s-radio- _loud_ voice that nearly split my head in two. “HEY, SUPER MAX!” he boomed with an intensity that spider-webbed Joyce’s makeshift countertop into jagged pieces. I turned to face him and immediately regretted it. Unlike Joyce, he _did_ have a face, if you could call it that: it was a horrific mess of blood and flesh that looked like some of the shit in the movies he had left for me on the flash drive I borrowed from him.

This wasn’t a movie, though – it was _really_ fucking scary and real. I didn’t know what to do, so I screamed as loud as I could. Without warning, the earth buckled beneath me, sending me to the ground so hard that I thought I felt the bones in my face shatter as I hit the pavement nose-first. The world went dark.

When my eyelids finally unglued themselves, Chloe and I were parked at a gas station. She was taking two sandwiches from the attendant who had apparently been nice enough to run into the store for us so we didn’t have to get out of the truck. She handed him two twenties and a ten, then passed one of the sandwiches to me. I accepted it with both hands before placing it gingerly on my lap. I took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly as if I were a lawn sprinkler watering summer grass. Chloe laughed politely through her nose as she put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. The tension inside me evaporated.

I had to resist an overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around my blue-haired friend – I didn’t want her to think that I had been time-tripping again. Instead, I took my sandwich out of its deli paper and chowed down (without looking like I was chowing down) as Chloe started up the engine. I was just glad I still felt like eating. It gave me hope that maybe someday I could be a normal human being again.

I admit that I was a bit selfish when I asked Chloe to stay off I-5 for as long as possible on the way to my parents’ house. She agreed without complaint and started driving as soon as we had our seat belts on. (I don’t remember actually seeing her wear one of those before.) I just wanted to sit in peace and stare at the countryside while I recovered from…well, pretty much everything.

It did make me a laugh a bit inside to see how hard she was trying. She had a super-serious look on her face as she drove. She went a lot slower than she normally does, sometimes even pulling off onto the shoulder to let fast-moving cars pass us. It did help me relax, though. I didn’t have to think about diners and schools and houses for a while, even though I knew we’d eventually have to pass through places like Tacoma and Olympia after we crossed the Lewis and Clark Bridge. Right now, I just couldn’t bear to look at anything that reminded me of what…what _I_ had done.

When we arrived at the last town before Washington, we pulled off the road closest to the water and gazed out at the Columbia River as the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon. We had been traveling so slowly that what was normally a four-and-a-half hour trip in decent traffic was going to take two days.

It was only then that I remembered that – hello, Max! – people might be trying to contact me. I reached for my smartphone inside my tote bag and saw on the lock screen that there were _ten_ new messages.

Oh, shit! I really _had_ left my phone on silent mode. I entered my pin (Chloe’s birthday) and smashed my index finger on the Messages icon. Three from Pops and seven from Mom, all of them asking whether I was alright with increasingly frantic punctuation. I had been so self-absorbed that I completely forgot about my own parents. _Shit_.

Chloe almost hit the roof of the cab. I must have cursed out loud.

“You okay, Max?”

She was sitting bolt upright with both hands on the steering wheel as if she were waiting for me to give her the go ahead to send her tin can catapulting into the stars on an express flight to Seattle.

“I’m fine. I just realized I had my phone on silent mode this entire time. I need to reply to these messages from my mom and dad.”

Chloe took her hands off the steering wheel and slumped in her seat. “I haven’t heard anything. From anybody.” She looked away from me toward the setting sun. “Tell your mom and dad I said ‘hi’ and we’ll see them soon.”

“Yeah, I’m going to respond right now. You want to type a message to them?”

“No,” she gurgled from behind her beanie. “Thanks for asking.”

I didn’t dare put my hand on her shoulder now the way she’d done for me. She’d probably lose it.

My fingers couldn’t find the letters on the pint-sized keyboard fast enough. I hammered out replies to Mom and Dad and spent the next ten minutes in back-and-forth conversations. Neither of them had heard from _anybody_ in Oregon, nor had they received updates about the status of survivors. Nobody knew anything. The local government had just now declared a state of emergency in Arcadia Bay and surrounding areas. Like everyone else, we would have to wait.

Of course, they jumped all over my ass about calling me right then and there. I told them we’d talk in person – I knew Chloe felt like absolute shit about leaving her mom behind and I didn’t want to hurt her. When I finally finished, she was looking straight ahead with her left cheek smashed up against the palm of her hand. Her eyes were red but it wasn’t from smoking. She must have been _really_ upset if she didn’t even feel like lighting up.

I couldn’t think of any better way to try to comfort her, so I took out my earphones and offered her one. To my surprise, she sidled over and put it in. I knew she thought the stuff I listened to was pretentious (and I think the same about some of her music), but she didn’t seem to care right then. She was a good sport about sitting through bands like Milo Greene and Kings of Convenience, even gamely bobbing one of her cross-legged boots to the tune of _1957_. I thought I saw her brow scrunch up during the chorus of _Boat Behind_ – maybe the lyrics were a bit too mushy for her.

I didn’t get the chance to ask her because I fell asleep before the end of the song.

It started off as a peaceful, dreamless sleep, the kind that you don’t remember and leaves you feeling refreshed when you wake up. That all changed when a tentacle decided to wrap itself around my waist and pull me down into the icy depths of the ocean. (Holy shit it was so cold!) I wanted to scream for Chloe to come and help me, but no sound came out of my mouth - just giant, snow-globe bubbles in the dark hues of the freezing waters that ascended rapidly out of sight as I plunged deeper and deeper into the darkness below.

As I descended, I observed several fishing hooks dropping into the water around me. They had strange, fluorescent cerulean lights that looked like butterflies attached to them. It was hard to tell, though, because they were jiggling frantically. Eventually, they attracted the attention of a _huge_ fucking fish – it must be what fishermen call the “Big One” – that zipped back and forth between spastic blue glow-trails for a short while before losing interest and wandering off.

One by one, the fishless hooks went back up to the surface. Not long after that, a dozen lines, maybe two dozen, dropped down into the water, further this time, sinking impossibly fast to a point somewhere beneath my shoes. They looked like runway lights down there, painstakingly arranged in eerily perfect rows. When they eventually started to come back up, all but one of them were empty. The one that wasn’t bore the mutilated body of the giant fish I had seen earlier. It thrashed about wildly and tracked me with one cloudy eye as it slowly rose to the surface.

After that, there must have been fifty lines that plunged way, way down, almost out of sight. I could barely make them out – they looked like some of the constellations you might see in the starry night sky. This group returned bearing the disfigured carcasses of shore crabs, snowy plovers, and harbor seal pups, drifting upwards without movement as if it were the most natural thing in the world. (Those animals don’t belong here!)

The next group of lines was huge: there must have been over a hundred of them. There were lights everywhere. They went so far down that I couldn’t see them anymore. They seemed to stay there for an eternity. When they started to come back up, there were life-sized dolls attached to them, all pale and puffy. As they came close enough to me that I could make out what they were…holy fucking shit. I don’t even want to remember how awful it was.

But there was no way I could forget this. They were the bodies of familiar faces from Arcadia Bay fucked up almost beyond recognition, hooked to the fishing lines limply, making their slow journey upwards as if they were spirits ascending to the heavens.

Kate Marsh in her white blouse and black cardigan, her golden crucifix necklace wrapped around a broken neck attached to a face streaked with crimson tears and shrouded in a wreath of mossy, lifeless hair.

Stella Hill face down without her glasses in a strapless white bra and underwear, her body covered from head to toe in hideous purple bruises that painted a bombed-out landscape over a twisted spine whose vertebrae jutted up like jagged cliffs from the caramel skin clinging to her malnourished frame.

David Madsen, Chloe’s stepfather, in a green button-up working shirt and blue jeans. A horrific snaking gash ran across his face from his left temple to the bottom of his chin, cleaving his eyeball, moustache, and lips and leaving rotting, gangrenous flesh in its wake. Even in this gruesome state he appeared to be at peace, as if he had been relieved of a burden he never really learned to bear.

I turned my head away. I wanted to curl up inside myself and disappear. My body revolted against what it had seen and vomited into the water until my stomach was empty.

But the bodies kept coming, an endless parade taunting me without mercy. My lungs began to burn with increasing intensity. I felt as if there were a volcano in my stomach that was about to burst. The world became hazy and exploded into a kaleidoscope of fiery ambers and crimsons that reminded me of when the autumn winds swirl red and yellow leaves into endlessly fascinating patterns on the hardening earth. I felt like a falling leaf as I tried in vain to escape the rising bodies by racing them to the surface, but with each flailing movement of my arms, I sank further and further into the abyss.

Suddenly in the distance I heard Chloe’s voice calling me frantically: “Max!”

My eyes opened abruptly and then immediately closed in response to the painful ambience of the sun’s light streaming in through the glare-tastic windshield of Chloe’s piece of shit truck. (Oh man, that dream was so fucked up!)

Even though I was sure I had barfed up everything I had ever eaten, my chest still felt heavy. I needed to breathe, I needed to move. I pressed myself into a sitting position as fast as I could. Chloe made a noise behind me, something indistinct and almost inaudible. I needed to get the fuck out of the truck.

“Chloe, I need some air,” I said to her.

“Sure thing, Max.”

Chloe pivoted on her jeans out of the driver’s seat and nonchalantly blocked the entire doorway with her skinny frame. I thought she might be getting some of her “no fucks given” mojo back – I watched out of the corner of my eye as she stretched her back against the faded blue lining of the cab’s beat-up cushion. After my ordeal in the frozen sea, I just wanted to feel the warmth of another living body, so I scuttled along the seat behind her before placing one clammy hand on her bare shoulder. I briefly imagined my fingers as thick, puffy clouds in the summer sky watching over the blossoming skull-rose-vine tattoo inked all the way down her right arm.

She didn’t seem to notice, even as I held my hand there for forever and a day while I hauled my waterlogged ass out of the truck. My head was foggy; my limbs were swimming. My lungs felt like a snail had been crawling around on the insides, leaving a trail of slimy shit all over the place. I butted clumsily in front of Chloe and arched my shoulders behind my back, trying with all my might to pull apart the sticky pain in my chest.

No luck. Just breathing was proving to be a major pain in the ass. My back and backside were sore as hell for some reason, but my legs weren’t ready for hard labor just yet, so I figured it would be better for me to sit down somewhere – just, you know, outside. I spied a relatively flat rock that was a hop, skip, and a jump away from where Chloe had parked the truck and sauntered over to it, being careful not to look like I was in too much pain. (I didn’t want Chloe to freak.)

* * *

I’m sitting down facing the chilly river as I write this. Even though the temperature has dipped below sixty degrees this far north, for a moment I can almost forget about how terrible I feel. The sun is just now coming up on the horizon – it’s the perfect opportunity to snap some photos of the landscape when its shadows are at their longest. I honestly don’t know whether my frazzled mind can summon up the energy needed to truly appreciate the morning’s Golden Hour. I keep seeing those horrible images every time I close my eyes. And if this is the way things are going to be every time I fall asleep…

It’s hard to resist the siren song of these soft, red hues, though. It’s almost like they’re singing my name, calling me home. If I could still use my powers to make one moment last forever, this would be it. I’d want Chloe sitting next to me. She’d have her arm draped around my shoulders while taking drags off a cigarette with her head turned away from me politely.

She doesn’t know it, but the smell of smoke reminds me of her. It’s one of those little things I’ll always keep inside my heart.

* * *

Chloe tried shrugging her shoulders the way Max had, bending over at the waist and raising her arms as high into the air as she could. No popping noises. Oh, well. She was surprisingly limber for someone who spent almost no time exercising.

Max had seated herself on a plain-looking waist-level rock overlooking the river. Chloe watched fondly as Max reached into her dark blue tote bag and held up her camera in front of her with one hand, probably scoping out potential shots before settling on a good one. The pumpkin-colored hues of the morning sunrise must make for some pretty awesome pictures.

Smiling to herself, Chloe walked toward the rock where Max was preparing her impromptu photo shoot with the intention of sitting down beside her and gently wrapping her arm around Max’s shoulders while she snapped away. As she approached, she felt her heart sink straight through her stomach down into her feet and she began to retch uncontrollably – mortified, she watched Max raise the gun Chloe had stolen from her stepfather, place it against the side of her head, and gently bring her index finger to rest on the trigger.


	3. Guardian Angel

_Max, put the gun down._

_Max, you don’t have to do this._

_Max, it doesn’t have to be this way._

You’ve never seen someone put a gun to their head and mean it. Fragments of pleading conversation from every movie you’ve ever seen pop into your mind like comic book thought bubbles, the ones you and Max used to read when you were kids. Clouds bearing shakily hand-lettered phrases descend from the sky on fish hooks, bobbing up and down above the stage of this surreal drama. You look at your options, and your choices just blow.

Clenched fists whiten the knuckles of your hands as you imagine having to deal with the shade of your best friend in some sort of messed up Old West fairytale. You don’t want to wrangle with arcane voodoo so that you can reanimate bones and run with animals to appease the anguished souls of the dearly departed – you need something that actually works in the really real world, here and now. You’re not a superhero and neither is Max, not anymore. So how exactly do regular people deal with this shit?

You decide to summon up whatever’s left of your neglected imagination (booze and cigarettes and _fuck you everything_ for as long as you can remember) and try to make it sound genuine. A wave of grief crashes over you and leaves a dull, throbbing wake when you try to think about what Rachel would have said. Rachel, who loved everyone and could get anyone to do almost anything because they loved her, too. And you would have done anything for her, before she was taken from you.

That dream you had about swimming together in the river last night – you twist it into something so grim it makes your bones feel too weak to hold up your body.

“I had a dream you’d do this,” you half-lie. “At the end of it, I died.”

Max eases her index finger off the trigger and slowly lowers her gently shaking hand to the rocky surface next to her limp-strapped tote bag. You don’t have any more words than that, even though you could really use them right now to mask the sound of your thick-soled boots as they tread the short distance between here and there. Those thoughts float away like a kite without a string in the cool morning breeze when Max takes her hand off the gun and rests her slender fingers on her jeans.

You wanted to use that gun, once, at a Vortex Club party hosted by filthy rich academy students who did whatever they pleased without consequence. You were going to be their consequences. Max disarmed you, outside, when she told you what she remembered of the time before your father died. She protected you from yourself by being brutally honest and you’re not about to let Max be consumed by _her_ demons.

You hum softly the way your mother used to at night when the dishes were done and she was picking out a movie to watch. Your heavy boots beat a steady rhythm against the ground as you sing your way toward Max. When she turns her head slightly in your direction, it’s then that you remember that you have absolutely no musical ability.

Max speaks before you can open your mouth.

“Do you remember how you died?”

Not the type of question you were expecting, but then you’ve never really known what to expect from Max. Fortunately, you’ve already thought up an answer. It’s just a matter of reciting it as you sit down next to her on the backs of your legs. The rock face feels uncomfortably hard on skin that peeks through tattered holes in the knees of your jeans.

“I wanted you to swim in the river with me at night, just like we did in the swimming pool at Blackwell. Suddenly, I felt something pull me under…and…I ended up drowning because you weren’t there to – “ and you’re emptying the gun’s chambers and throwing everything all at once as hard as you fucking can into the river. The bullets land limply on the shore not far from you but the gun spins end over end like a metal boomerang and breaks the surface of the distant water with a dramatic _thunk_ that sounds like a toy ship being slammed to the bottom of a child’s bathwater.

“You weren’t there to save me,” you finish as you turn around to look at her.

A blank face frames a pair of gumdrop saucers returning your gaze. You’re all that Max has left now of Arcadia Bay and you know she feels like shit about it. She’s saved your life three times that she’s told you about – it could be a hundred for all you know – and you know she’d do anything for you as many times as she needs to. You think you’ve finally returned the favor, this one time.

The muscles in your shoulder tingle from the exertion. You reach across your chest with your left arm to massage the places where it hurts and, in doing so, your hand brushes up against the three-bullet necklace you’ve made a habit of wearing. In a fit of pique, you jerk the thin, black noose from around your clavicle. The empty bronze shells have barely made it over your head before they’re sailing out to sea.

When you turn around for the second time, Max is still staring at you with the most docile, doe-eyed look you’ve ever seen in your life. You kneel down in front of her legs hanging over the side of the flat-topped rock and put your hands on them. You look into eyes the color of your hair with the sincerest expression you can muster. You’re serious as hell, even though you’ve spent most of the last half-decade perfecting the art of not giving a fuck.

“No more bullets, no more guns,” you promise.

Max nods limply but doesn’t raise her head when she’s done. She reminds you of the bobble head figure on the dashboard of your truck. You put the fingertips of your right hand under her chin and lift it until her blue eyes meet yours.

“Max, you saved me. You did it for a reason. Without you, I wouldn’t be here. You’re my guardian angel.”

Her answer comes as your sentence is still hanging in the air. “What about Rachel?”

_Fuck you, Max._

No, no, no, you shake your head. Your anger has no place here. Let the coming grey November skies rain icy tears all over rusted cars and washing machines and broken computers and your aching bitterness for a million years until they’ve eroded into nothingness. You know now what Rachel meant to you. You know now, because of Max, that if you don’t lose your father he loses you instead. Neither of them would want you to be angry at Max, not ever again.

“You weren’t there, Max. I didn’t have anybody else.”

“You loved her, right?” she chokes.

You close your eyes unthinkingly as you nod. Is there something that sounds like… _jealousy_ …in Max’s voice?

She bails for five years and feels jealous. Typical Max.

“Rachel made a lot of people care about her, Max. That’s what was special about her. She cut right through all the bullshit and helped people see the best in themselves.”

“What did she help you see in yourself?”

“What I wanted to see: somebody who still had love in their heart, who hadn’t completely given up on the world when it looked like the world had given up on me. She was a mirror – she didn’t show you anything other than what you wanted to see in yourself. But she didn’t judge anyone and that’s why everyone loved her. Including me.”

As the words leave your mouth, you envision them taking physical form and striking you in the chest. A wave of frightening, powerful clarity washes over you. The realization pains you with the crushing weight of all the rubble in Arcadia Bay. Your breathing becomes labored and heavy for a moment. Your heart tries to escape through your throat and you think you might vomit. Max lifts one hand up to your cheek because she probably thinks you’re about to cry. You swallow hard.

“As fucked up as it sounds, Max, I think Rachel’s death was meant to bring you back to me.” Your voice is shaking. Your limbs want to fly off your body. “When we were looking for her, we reconnected in a way we couldn’t have otherwise. Not after five years. Max…she showed me that you’re my guardian angel. She showed me that nobody can replace you.”

Max’s eyes go wide and her hand grips your cheekbone roughly. You don’t know whether you’ve hit the mark or messed up big time. You’ve become accustomed to assuming the worst from people by now, but Max isn’t one of them. She’s almost too innocent for this world, you think to yourself, but then you remember what she’s been through and you’re certain that she would set fire to the wind and tear the stars from the night sky if it meant you lived instead of died.

You stand up and grasp the fleshy sides of her shoulders with your bony fingers. She looks up at you as if you’ve just descended from the heavens. “ _You_ are my guardian angel, Max,” you repeat yourself. “And I swear on Rachel’s grave that for the rest of my life, I will be _your_ guardian angel. I will protect you. I will be there to help you through all the scary shit, no matter how nasty it gets. And when I say ‘protect you,’ Max…” – with a glance toward the river – “…that includes protecting you from yourself.”

Max’s lips part as if in slow motion. “Chloe, I…” She hesitates. It sounds like she wants to confess something, but you’re not sure. Usually you’re not able to read people like this. You wonder whether your childhood bond isn’t coming back to you somehow.

She stammers a bit and suddenly blurts out, “Can you make my nightmares go away? I keep seeing the corpses of people we know and...having conversations with them.”

And now you know what brought you to this moment. You hate that Max thinks of herself like this, that she sees your existence as her saving grace. You channel the anger that’s been pulsing through your veins and rattling your ribcage into an answer that flips the world a pair of middle fingers.

“Yes. Yes, Max. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll become a fucking dream expert and stock boxes full of dreamcatchers in the back of my truck to shield you from the shit you see when you close your eyes. I’ll check out every book in every library within a twenty mile radius and read them until the sun comes up. Max…” You squeeze her shoulders. “…I will never leave you again.”

You sit down close enough to her that she can feel your body guarding hers against the world like you promised her on the playground when you were children. You drape your arm over her shoulders the way you wanted to before your best friend’s nightmares bullied her into believing that she was some kind of monster. You’ve partied with the devil, and there’s no way in hell Max is anything like that.

Max twists herself at the waist, placing her right arm down your back and around your hipbone and smashes her face into your shoulder. You feel the wetness of her tears on your bare skin. She cries until there is no more crying to be done. Her left hand grips your shoulder tightly above your skull-rose tattoo, the way she did when she ambled out of the truck after you woke up.

You don’t really know why you’re noticing these things. Max just makes you feel strange sometimes.


	4. I'd Rather Dance

Have you ever felt like dying was the only thing left to do? Sometimes it doesn’t matter how many beautiful things there are in the world or how many years are left in your life – everything becomes empty and hollow and there’s an overwhelming desire to fade into transparency like the ghosts that haunt your nightmares. With every pained exhalation I imagined my breath swirling around me like misty morning fog, purifying my scars as it enveloped and dissolved me. What stopped me from surrendering to the embrace of dark oblivion was the overpowering burning in my eyes and dull ache in my throat when my best friend told me that she had died in her dreams because of my selfishness.

I wanted Chloe to have to be close to me.

That’s not the entire story, but I don’t want to remember the rest of it if I don’t have to. I was going to set fire to the film reel of the horror movie in my mind, slash the projector screen into a thousand pieces, and tear down the whole damn theater – until Chloe offered me a way out. When she told me that I was her guardian angel, that fate had brought me back to her, my heart melted and I put my trust in her completely. And now, I’ve begun to replace the ghastly visages I see in my sleep with that beautiful, no-longer-pissed-off face of hers.

You’d think there wouldn’t be any downsides to doing what I did, but it feels like my heart is on fire and it’s eating me up inside almost as much as the devastating consequences of the tornado are. I know that sounds completely fucked up. My emotions are just so out of control right now and I almost want to straight up confess to Chloe. I know she cares about me – just not the same way I care about her.

She thinks I’m a child. That’s the one part of my nightmares that I know is true. Even though she jokingly told me that nobody besides her would ever be good enough for me, I can’t help but think that she was just really happy that I was back in her life and spending time with her, the way we did when we were kids and played pirates. We’d take turns being the Captain and First Mate and we’d make up fantastic stories about our adventures. But none of those were love stories, and even if they had been, I can’t imagine how the Captain and her First Mate kissing at the helm of their skull-and-crossbones sloop would make for the kind of fiction anyone would want to daydream about.

I keep telling myself this is just my emotions overreacting to crippling grief. I keep telling myself that, but I still have to deal with it here and now, when minutes last as long as hours and hours are an eternity.

I spent the rest of the trip with my hoodie halfway over my head and my earphones in. I asked Chloe if it would be all right to lie down on her lap (there’s not a lot of room in the cab of her truck) so I didn’t have to look at any of the stuff that was passing by us outside the window. She agreed without a fuss and even absent-mindedly stroked my hair as she was driving. It calmed me. I just hope I didn’t distract her too much.

After what had happened neither of us were in any condition to eat, so we decided to blast straight to my parents’ house. I didn’t feel like I was up to dealing with humanity just yet. The fact that some of humanity may no longer exist due to my decision weighed so heavily on my mind that my playlist had come to an end before I even remembered that I was listening to music.

When we got into Seattle I pulled up the Maps app on my phone and told Chloe which roads to take. My parents’ house isn’t far off the main highway so it wasn’t too difficult to find. I knew we had reached the driveway when I felt the front end of the truck almost bottom out. I sat up for the first time since we had crossed the Washington border and watched as Chloe stopped, parked, shut the engine off, and slid out of the driver’s seat like she was expecting to be greeted by a valet. Not even a natural disaster could crush her confidence.

I had barely opened the passenger door when my parents came half-running out the front door of the house. Mom bounded straight past Chloe, pulled me out of the cab, and hugged me with a spin that took me off my feet for a second, which is pretty impressive considering she’s about as tall as I am. Dad must have figured that he looked out of place with his arms empty, because he was bear hugging Chloe so enthusiastically that her beanie had fallen off and Pops was getting a beard full of blue hair. (I might be exaggerating…a little.) She was doing her best to return the favor but couldn’t seem to manage more than a pair of seal flippers gently patting his back.

“Chloe Price! Wow, it’s been a long time,” Dad rumbled. My aunts and uncles always joked that he had a voice that sounded like a wounded polar bear in a snowstorm. I still haven’t figured out what that means. Loud, but gentle?

“Thanks, Ryan,” Chloe said in a muffled voice. Dad got the hint and let her go.

“How are you girls doing?” said Mom. “I’m glad to see you made it here in one piece.”

My mother’s lilting voice was met with silence. Chloe and I exchanged a questioning glance over the hood of the truck, each waiting for the other to offer a reasonably polite answer. How do you tell your own mother you feel like shit and wanted to die? How do you tell your best friend’s mother that you’re freaking out because you don’t know whether you still even _have_ a mother?

Mom looked at Chloe, then back at me. I think she could sense what was going on. She’s always been good with people like that. (Something I don’t seem to have inherited.) “Max, how are you doing, honey?” Mom asked gently. I could still hear the anticipation in her voice.

“I’m having nightmares,” I blurted out without thinking. “I keep seeing dead people.”

“Oh, honey,” said Mom as she stroked the back of my head through my knotted, messy hair. “Let’s go inside. Lunch is almost ready.” She turned her head to Chloe so she wouldn’t feel left out. (I know how Mom thinks, at least.) “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” rasped Chloe. “We haven’t been hungry.”

Dad looked at Mom knowingly. “I’ll set the table for us, Vanessa. Come on inside, girls. I know you’re tired from the drive.”

We walked inside the dark blue, two-and-a-half story house that Mom and Dad had fallen in love with so much that they were willing to move a whole state away to live in it. It looks a lot smaller on the outside than it actually is on the inside. There are so many rooms and hallways (it even has a finished sub-basement, whatever that means) that most people remark on how it looks like a mansion when they visit for the first time.

I heard Chloe murmuring to herself as she walked in the front door and took off her boots: “So Max Caulfield lives in a TARDIS. Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

I have to admit, I was hella impressed. Hadn’t Chloe been lot more into that stuff once upon a time? Only five years had passed and it seemed like I had forgotten everything I knew about this person I used to spend all day with.

I stood mutely in the entryway next to Mom and tried to look around. Tried, because my head felt dizzier than I expected after vegging out for two hours. “I need to lie down.”

“Sure thing, honey.” Mom released me from our sideways embrace and sauntered into the kitchen. “I’ll come get you when everything’s ready. Take your time.”

“I’ll check out Max’s room while she takes a catnap,” announced Chloe. She still hadn’t put her beanie back on. It was hanging out the back left pocket of her jeans. She was disheveled in a strange way that made me look at her too much.

As we trudged up the staircase to the second floor, Chloe put her arm around my waist. I did likewise in response. We stayed that way until we had rounded the bannister at the top of the stairs and were standing in front of a plain brown door that served as the not-so-secret portal to my hideaway from reality. No posters, no slogans, no bullshit. Was Chloe right when she said that I didn’t have a style yet? Maybe. Or maybe I did but just wasn’t showing it off like she did.

I turned the faux brass knob and walked into a little corner of the world that hadn’t changed much since I’d left it. Dresser, CD player, speakers, clothes, rug, pictures, banners, and photos, photos everywhere. I was too fatigued to look at any of them. In an act of supreme laziness, I dipped my head forward to let my tote bag slide off onto my bed and followed it face first. It wasn’t until I had plopped down on top of the quilts and blankets that I felt my shoelaces pressing against the bedding. I turned over onto my back and slipped off my shoes with the balls of my feet, letting them drop onto the carpeted floor. I was more out of it than I thought.

Chloe was eyeballing the dozens of photographs that lined my walls. (There were probably over a hundred of them, actually.) Pictures of everything that had ever caught my eye, anything I had ever done with my friends in the city, even a few arranged still life pictures – those scenes are the background music of my life, things that touch me in a way nothing else ever has. I’m glad Chloe was looking at them.

I stared up at the white plaster ceiling, where an infinity of possibilities coalesced into view: how my life would turn out after this, where I’d finish school, which university I would attend, where I’d end up living. Would I travel? That would be nice. I thought about vacationing on the beach while shooting stock photos of palm trees and sand crabs. I’d drive a jeep up into the mountains and turn the rocky, snow-capped ridges into framed portraits. Maybe I’d even get the chance to –

“Hey, what’s this CD?” Chloe interrupted my thoughts as if she were reading them and had done it on purpose. She was looking at one of the many colored jewel cases stacked neatly in rainbow patterns next to my CD player which, unlike some of the stuff I own, was actually made in this decade. “Kings of Pretentiousness, huh?”

“You ass,” I mumbled. “They’re called the Kings of Convenience.”

“I love it when you get sassy, Max. I’m putting it in. We need to get our mood up out of the dumps. Or at least pretend to, for a while.”

I sighed contentedly when familiar orchestral beats started singing through the room. Predictably, Chloe turned the music up just short of making the walls vibrate. I felt an impish grin take shape on my face; what she didn’t know is that the song turns itself up after a couple of seconds. Soon enough, my poor speakers were rocking out so hard I thought they might decide to stage dive off my dresser. I covered my ears.

“Shit!” I’m pretty sure that’s what Chloe said. She cranked the volume knob to the left with all the grace of a circus elephant. “Sorry,” she mouthed in my direction. I shrugged and let my right foot slide onto the floor where the ball of my foot started bobbing my heel like a sewing machine roughly in time to the bass-driven rhythm. I turned my mind off (finally) and imagined myself breezing along the autumn winds as a butterfly would.

“What’s the name of this song?” Chloe shouted over the music even though she didn’t need to. Most people can hear her just fine when she’s not yelling.

“I’d Rather Dance with You. It’s about dancing instead of talking.”

“Sounds about right!” And with that I was being pulled out of bed by Chloe who had grabbed both my hands. She pulled me close to her – very close – and put my hands on her hips.

“All right, Max. Let me show you how it’s done.” Heat radiated through my cheeks. I wondered whether Chloe would notice.

“Are you _blushing_ , Max? Oh, come on, I’m just showing you how to move. Here, follow my lead.”

Chloe put her hands on my shoulders and began moving around the room slowly, rocking her hips back and forth. “Your torso is the center of everything. Your arms and legs move based on that.”

I had never wanted to kiss Chloe more in my life.

“Let’s get you moving, first. Just follow me around the room.”

Chloe began moving counter-clockwise, occasionally dipping in and out of the circular pattern she was making. It’s a good thing my room is pretty small, otherwise I don’t think I would have been able to follow her nimble feet around.

“Okay, now try moving your body like I am. Just keep it simple.” Honestly, I didn’t understand how she was moving her hips like that, so just I rocked my weight onto my left foot, then my right as we made another round of the room. It felt like I was getting the hang of it. Instructor Chloe must have been pleased with my progress. She had a big smile on her face.

“Learn to shake that bony white ass and someday you’ll be ready for the mosh pit, shaka brah!”

I almost tripped over my own feet as I laughed. We both did. I have to admit, that was pretty funny. It was enough to get me to start swinging my hips back and forth like a pendulum.

“See! You’re getting the hang of this already. Get into the swing! Let loose!” Chloe started tossing her head around. Her blue hair whipped around her giraffe neck like a tetherball on a playground pole. She looked completely ridiculous. As long as I could keep my hands where they were, I didn’t care how wild she got in my parents’ house. She was probably letting out pent-up frustration and anger.

After about a half-minute of watching her thrash, I began to feel awkward and uncomfortable, so I sat down on the bed to collect myself. I needed to let the heat in my face fade and wait for my hands to stop shaking. It almost felt like one of those half-assed romance novels where the hero parachutes out of the sky into the bed of the heroine, except we were two heroines and I had no idea whether Mom and Dad would freak out if they walked in while I was trying to make the dorkiest move ever on my best friend. Not to mention how Chloe would react. I shook my head at my own stupid thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Chloe. I can’t concentrate.”

“All right, enough dancing. I tried.” She returned to the dresser and pressed the power button on the CD player, then sat down next to me on the bed. “Let’s talk. _I’d rather talk with you than dance with you…_ ” she lilted in a sing-song voice. She wore a wry grin on her face.

“I…I’m not sure that I can even talk right now.”

“No problem, Max. I’m here for you. Whatever you need.” She put her hand on my back and rubbed it gently.

Suddenly I could talk. “I’m trying to block out all these negative thoughts. I…I’m so sorry about your mom, Chloe. She deserved better than that.”

“We don’t know what’s happened yet, Max. Give it time. Just remember that whatever _did_ happen, you made the right decision. You’re not a god, you’re not a miracle worker, you are not responsible for tornados and floods and famines. Life put you in a shitty spot and you did the best you could. Max…”

Chloe took my cheeks in her hands. I almost fainted.

“It is _not_ your fault.”

I opened my mouth to say something but might as well have vomited into party cups and handed them to her for all the good it would have done me. I didn’t want to let Chloe see me cry (or puke), so I brought my legs up underneath me, turned toward her, and hugged her limply. I took in the scent of her neck – hair dye and sweat – and kissed it as lightly as I could before resting my cheek against it. No reaction. I resigned myself to thinking that if I could just make it through the next couple of weeks that my emotions would return to normal and I’d get over this sudden fascination with Chloe.

We sat like that for a while. I would give anything to know what Chloe was thinking. Right when I had worked up the courage to say something and took my face off her neck, Mom walked into the room to let us know that lunch was ready. Don’t mind us Mom, just two best friends comforting each other after a natural disaster. A “Maximum” disaster. We headed downstairs.

Despite Dad’s best efforts, he wasn’t able to mask the nails-on-chalkboard sound of the ancient kitchen chairs scraping against the tiled floor. It was a quirk Mom and Dad found endearing; Chloe wasn’t quite as in love with their house as they were. Irritated, she responded impulsively with the question we had been avoiding since we arrived. “Any news from Arcadia Bay? We drove here non-stop and haven’t checked our phones since yesterday evening.”

Silence. The kind that lingers in the moonlit rooms of children at midnight right before monsters emerge from closets and devour them whole.

“Honey…” my mother began. Chloe must have known exactly what was coming, because she dropped her head into her palms with a thud that vibrated through her scrawny elbows and rattled the solid oak table. She squeezed her thick, unwashed locks of hair so hard that I thought she might rip some of it out then and there.

The plates Mom was holding went back onto the counter. There was a worried expression on her face, one that I recognized – she wore it when she knew there was no way to smooth over something awful that needed a straightforward explanation.

“They haven’t found any survivors.”

“FUCK!”

_Hi, my name is Chloe Price and I have absolutely no fucking manners. Tell me again, heart, why you’re suddenly obsessed with this blue-haired dumbass._

_I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m being a major bitch. Your mom’s probably dead and I have no right to talk like that or even think like that. I’m sorry for my fucked up thoughts. I’m sorry for…everything._

And with that, Chloe was crying silently, cross-armed and upright, her pale, young face framed against the dark black lacquering of the antique wooden chair she sat in. Her teary eyes shone with glints of midday sunlight as she gazed out the window above the sink. She could have been looking at the lighthouse hundreds of miles away in Arcadia Bay, that’s how far away she was right then.

I looked at Mom pleadingly. “What about…what about…how do you know…”

Dad answered for her with words I knew she didn’t want to have to use. “They’ve published a list of names of the…people…they’ve found that didn’t make it. We’ve been refreshing the list on Tillamook County’s website every five minutes on the living room laptop.”

“I need to see it right now,” I said with unexpected anger in my voice.

Dad cupped a reassuring hand on my shoulder as he walked past me into the living room. Mom pulled up a chair next to Chloe and wrapped her arms around her. Chloe hissed like a snake in response to the physical contact, but calmed down a bit when she realized it would be impolite to get pissed off at someone else’s mom. My mom.

I sprang out of my chair, ran past Dad, and did an Olympic long jump straight onto the cushions of the living room couch. The laptop on the knee-high coffee table was in screen saver mode, so I pressed the spacebar and hammered F5 as soon as the website came up. I swore under my breath as I scrolled through the list of names and put my palm on my forehead when I saw what I knew I was going to see.

Knowing didn’t make it any less painful.

Chloe’s mother and stepfather were on the list. (How did David not make it out? He was the most paranoid hardcore survivalist in Oregon…sorry, David.) So was Warren. (I could have returned some of his affection, even if I didn’t mean it. Shit, I bet he thought I friend zoned him hard.) So was…goddamnit, _everyone_. Alyssa, Stella, Brooke, Taylor…was there anyone whose name wasn’t on this fucking list?

No, no, no, this is all wrong, shit…oh fuck, wait…Kate! Kate’s name isn’t here. Oh shit, Kate!

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit Kate’s number. It rang through to her voicemail. I dialed again, and again, and again. I had to run into the bathroom and throw up for reals this time. But I kept dialing. I listened to the ringtone and voicemail message over and over with a dull, resigned ache in my heart. I had stopped keeping track of the number of attempts I had made when the phone cut off in mid-ring and a familiar voice came on the line.

“Hello? Max?”

“Oh, Kate, holy fucking shit!” Oh gawd, I had done one fucking thing in this world without completely fucking it up. One fucking thing. I dropped into a fetal position on the soft cushions of the couch and would have cried if my eyes had any more goddamn tears left in them.

“Max! I’m in church right now! Please…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Max, are you all right?”

No, but I didn’t want to tell her that. “Kate, I’m so glad you’re not dead.”

A strangled, uncertain laugh on the other end. “I’m glad you’re alive, too, Max. You’re my angel.”

“Kate, nobody else made it. I’m looking at the list of…people right now. Did anyone else make it?”

“No, Max, we looked, too, and called the emergency hotline number to confirm the names. I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Kate, how did you get out? Why couldn’t anyone else get out?”

“I don’t know, Max. I don’t know why. I wish I did. My parents checked me out of the hospital and took me back home before the tornado came. I know you don’t really like to hear this kind of talk, but I think it was God’s plan for me all along, after he sent you to me on the roof of the dormitory to stop me from jumping.”

If that gets you through the days and nights, then so be it.

“Kate, I am so glad to hear your voice. Is there any way we can meet? I need to see you again.”

“I don’t think so, Max. My parents have said they’re never letting me go back to Arcadia Bay after this. They think it’s an evil place and that it was punished for being consumed by the Prescotts’ greed.”

What the fuck? Oh, fuck that.

“My aunt is being punished too, for calling me a Jezebel. My pastor rebuked her in front of everyone and now she’s taking remedial bible study courses. He said that only God can judge those who made mistakes.”

Right now, I didn’t give a fuck about whether the bastards that drugged her at the Vortex Club party were dead or not.

“It’s not your fault, Kate. If there’s one thing I’m trying to learn from this, it’s that there are some things that you have no control over and that you can’t beat yourself up about them.”

“I know, Max, but I still feel awful about letting everyone down. My family suffered because of what I did. My uncle had a mental breakdown and this church-sponsored therapy doesn’t seem to be helping…I don’t know what to do.”

That sounded so, so fucked up, but I felt like I had to do whatever it took to comfort her.

“You keep living the way you normally would. We’re still alive, you, and me, and Chloe, and we’re still here. Just because the people we love are no longer with us or we feel like maybe we should have died to make everything right in the world doesn’t mean that we have to live like we’re dead. We’re here for a reason, Kate. Even though our reasons are different, we have that in common. Don’t ever forget that you’re alive because God wants you to be.”

Silence. Then, hesitating: “You’re…you’re right Max. There’s a reason I’m still here, even if I don’t understand it. Just like you, just like you and your friend are still here. That’s right…that’s so right, Max. You really are my angel.”

“Kate…I…we really need to meet. We should do our tea tour. I’m in Seattle now with my parents. I mean, I know it’s…”

“Max, my family won’t let me out of their sight. They feel bad about shaming me for what happened, but now that the pastor explained things to them, I really feel like they’re sorry for everything and that they’ve seen the truth. I need to be there to support them, even though they didn’t support me. Right?”

Kate was a better person than I would ever be.

“You’re right, Kate. You should forgive them. They didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know what they were doing to you, then.”

“It’s hard, Max. It’s really hard. But I have to do this. And part of doing that is never going back to Arcadia Bay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see you again. They’re talking about sending me to finish school somewhere in Canada.”

Wowsers…the thought of having to travel abroad just avoid bad memories…

“We…Chloe and I could visit you some time. We’ll take her truck. Maybe this winter?”

“That would really be nice, Max. I’d like to see you again. I hope I can.”

“I hope so, too, Kate.”

“I’m so sorry, Max, but I have to go now. Services are starting again and I’ve been talking in the bathroom for too long. I actually left the first half a bit early after I took my phone out of my pocket on silent mode and saw that you had called thirty-four times. I’m glad you did, by the way. It warms my heart to know that you care. You always have.”

First half? Her church services sounded like a football game. I wondered how long she spent in them.

“I’m glad I did, too. I…really needed to talk to you Kate. I’m so glad you’re safe. Give your family my best wishes. I hope everything works out well for you and that we can see each other soon.”

“Thank you so much, Max. I’m really busy with all of this reconnecting stuff and trying to find my way after what happened. I’ll text you after services. I know it sounds corny, but you’ve really helped me find a reason to live again after what happened. I hope you never have to feel like you need to do what I was going to.”

That last sentence hit me with the force of a sledgehammer. Not Kate’s fault. She had no idea.

“Kate? Before you go…” I hesitated. This was going to sound weird. I lifted my head to make sure Chloe wasn’t in sight, just in case.

“Yes, Max?”

“I just wanted to tell you that…I love you, and I’ll always be there for you.”

“Max, that is so sweet of you.” She sounded like she was tearing up. “I love you too, Max. I’ve never had a friend like you who’s not afraid to say that.”

“Kate, anyone who has a friend like you is a lucky person.”

“Oh, Max, I have to go before I start crying. I’ll text you after services, all right?”

“All right, Kate. Talk to you soon.”

“Goodbye, Max.”

“Bye, Kate.”

I hung up. If I hadn’t already been lying down in the fetal position, I would have curled up into it.

It seemed appropriate, given the circumstances. It just didn’t feel right to be happy about the fact that Kate was alive while Chloe was receiving her third visit from Death. The news of her mother’s passing had invited an early winter that shit a wretched storm of black ice all over our insides and the bond between us. I had drunk my fill of sorrow and misery to the point where I could no longer feel feelings. Chloe was just getting started.

Pops and I had muted conversations about Seattle, photography, sports – mundane stuff that Chloe wouldn’t overhear and react to. She was in the kitchen talking angrily to my mother about _her_ mother, her father, her stepfather, her friends who weren’t named Max. My throat seized up when she started talking about _us_ and how we used to spend all of our time together. Her memories of family mingled freely with her memories of me despite my prolonged absence – but now they were gone, and my face was still here as an ever present reminder of what once was.

I listened to Chloe’s stifled shouts rolling in like ocean waves and ebbing at the caress of my mother’s soothing words. I knew Mom couldn’t replace Joyce, as much as she might want that. (I was enough for Dad. Mom wanted me to have brothers and sisters.)

Chloe was sobbing softly when my phone buzzed with a text from Kate. She couldn’t call me because her parents wouldn’t let her (how fucking controlling are they?) talk to _anyone_ who had anything to do with Arcadia Bay. She had had to hide from them in the bathroom earlier just to talk to me. I was so angry – I wanted to tell Kate how I felt, but I knew it would hurt her feelings. She _had_ a family, at least, and I didn’t want to give her any reason to doubt herself again. Texting back and forth with Kate made it a little bit easier to bear Chloe’s pained outbursts.

It was nine o’clock in the evening when Chloe came into the living room red-eyed and exhausted. It seemed that Mom had finally been able to placate her – either that, or Chloe had worn herself out. Probably the latter. Dad was one step ahead of us and set the pizza he had ordered two hours ago on the table in front of us without a word. Chloe and I each ate half without reheating, thinking, or even stopping for air. When we were done, the empty cardboard box sat on the coffee table next to the laptop which by now had gone into power saver mode. Mom and Dad each had a plate lined with sandwich crumbs. Our food, our words, our emotions – everything was used up.

Mom broke the silence with an innocuous question. “What did you think of your room?”

“Same as it ever was,” I replied without thinking.

“I like that song,” Dad offered.

“You always did like weird music, Dad.”

“Like father, like daughter.” That was good enough for a half-hearted laugh from three of us. Chloe was a statue. She hadn’t even bothered to put her beanie back on. Her hair looked like someone had set fire to a wizard’s secret stash of magic blue powder.

Dad made a valiant effort to bring her down from her emotional mountaintop. “Help yourself to the fridge in the garage, Chloe,” he said. “There’s some small batch craft brew in there.” Mom didn’t really like having beer in the house, but Dad only drank the really good stuff infrequently, so it wasn’t enough to bother her.

“Thanks,” Chloe croaked. “I don’t think it would help right now. Would probably only make things worse.” Dad nodded his head in understanding.

This coming from the girl who downed bottle after bottle before…well, enough of that. I didn’t want to think about that any more. Maybe Chloe didn’t, either.

“I’m tired,” she said suddenly. “Is it all right if I sleep on your floor, Max? I don’t want to be alone.”

“Sure, Chloe.”

“All right,” said Mom. “I’ll grab a sleeping bag and a pillow. And some blankets, just in case. Would you like to take a shower, Chloe? I don’t think Max’s clothes will fit you, but you can use some of ours.”

“Sure,” she said in a monotone.

“I’m sure you can find something that’s about her size or close to it in our closet,” said Dad.

“I have a pretty good idea of where to look. Max, some of your older clothes are still in your dresser. I washed them a couple of weeks ago, but they should be okay to wear. And by ‘okay’ I mean they don’t smell terrible.”

“Sure, Mom. I’ll take a turn after Chloe.”

“Okay, girls. I’ll go find some clothes for Chloe,” said Mom. She headed up the staircase.

“I’ll take care of the dishes,” said Dad and disappeared into the kitchen.

“So, Captain,” whispered Chloe with a defeated sigh, slapping one hand on my left knee roughly. “I’m going to walk the plank and go for a night swim in the ocean. Rest assured I’ll come back in one piece and clean as a whistle for our evening’s stargazing and tall tale-telling.”

“Aye aye, First Mate,” I replied gamely. Chloe’s expression was blank but there was still a spark of life somewhere behind her eyes. I followed her up the stairs and zigged into my bedroom when she zagged into the bathroom. As she closed her door, I opened mine and fell straight into the embrace of my bed.

The sound of the shower was a distant waterfall. I cleared my mind and imagined breezing along in the night sky as a butterfly, my fluorescent wings aglow with unbound magic. Time ceased to exist.

The soft, steady ticking of my room’s wall clock became audible again when Mom came up the stairs and opened the bathroom door just enough to slip some clothes inside onto the sink’s counter. She penguin shuffled into my bedroom carrying a comfy-looking bundle between her low-hanging arms and the bottom of her chin. A pile of fabric and cushions fell onto the floor with a _plop_ and out came a dark blue sleeping bag with a white pillow and some light blue cotton blankets folded up on the side. Mom sat down on the edge of my bed and brushed my bangs out of my face even though they weren’t really in my face.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“How I’d like to be a butterfly and ride the wind forever without a care in the world.”

She nodded silently, then leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Good night, honey.”

“Good night, Mom.”

“Good night, Max,” Dad rumbled from the doorway. He wore a dish towel over his left shoulder.

“Night, Dad.”

As they descended the staircase, Chloe came out of the bathroom wearing one of Dad’s checkered plaid blue-and-black long-sleeved shirts over a generic white t-shirt, a pair of entirely intact blue jeans (no rips), and toothpaste white socks. She had combed her blue hair straight back in a way that made her look entirely unlike the Chloe Price I knew, almost like one of those conveniently human-like and impossibly attractive alien races from Star Trek or Babylon 5.

“I’m ready to take over the helm, Captain,” she said, this time with a hint of a smile on her face.

“Steady as she goes,” I replied and grabbed the first thing I saw out of the dresser – a plain blue shirt with a white star, some pajama pants (it was getting chillier now), and plain white socks.

The warm water felt good against my skin, but something I couldn’t quite put my finger on was nagging at me, so I finished up faster than I had wanted to. When I returned to my room, Chloe was lying down on top of the zipped-up sleeping bag with one leg crossed over the other, staring up at the ceiling. I stepped over her dramatically as I walked back to my bed.

“Don’t let us landlubbers get in your way!” We both giggled at that one. Chloe’s laugh deflated into a sharp exhalation. “Max, this is so fucked up I don’t even know how to deal with it.”

Neither of us did. We were both stumbling about in the dark, looking for something. And neither of us knew what that _something_ was. “We’ll help each other. Right?” I replied. “Like best friends do.”

She turned over to look at me with those beautiful blue eyes of hers. “Right, just like best friends do.” A pause. “Is Rachel still on your mind?” Wasn’t expecting that.

“No.” I was telling the truth, the honest truth. I had stopped thinking about Rachel because there were other…bodies…that had replaced hers in my mind. _Ugh_. “I was thinking about Brooke, and Stella, and Alyssa, and Kate…and Joyce.”

“I was thinking about my mom and Rachel, that’s why I asked,” she said as she gazed into my eyes unblinkingly. “I guess we’re both thinking about friends and loved ones.”

“Yeah…I feel bad about Warren.”

“About not going out with him?”

“I just feel like I could have been more attentive, you know?”

“You did what you felt, Max. Don’t apologize for it. You know that sh…stuff on the wall in my room, right?”

“Better to live a life of ‘oh wells’ than a life of ‘what ifs.’”

“Exactly. Anyways, you probably didn’t go out with Warren because you have the hots for me.”

“Probably.”

Chloe laughed uncontrollably through her nose. “Max, it’s adorable how dorky you are. And I mean that in the nicest way.”

I grinned and tossed my head back against my pillow in response. Sleep whispered softly in my ear, only to assault me with a jarring image of Kate’s pale, lifeless face from last night’s dream. I shook my head. “You know I talked to Kate on the phone, right?” I asked her hesitantly.

“Yeah, I was listening to you the entire time. It probably sounds hella weird, but focusing on your voice helped me keep it together while I was ranting.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“You saved Kate, you saved me, and we’re both still here, Max. You’re awesome.”

“Thanks, Chloe.” I guess I didn’t need to say much of anything. Sleep was slowly taking me and I was dreading it. “My nightmares are still here, too. I’m afraid to fall asleep.”

Chloe pushed herself up onto her feet wordlessly, closed the door, turned off the light, and put her pillow next to mine, just like she had when I spent the night at her house after our midnight dip in Blackwell Academy’s swimming pool. There was enough moonlight coming in through the window behind me that I could see her face faintly. She looked like an angel.

“I’ll be right here if you need me, Max. I’ll try to stay awake as long as I can. I don’t know how to tell when you’re having a nightmare, but if I see you walking around or squirming or even if your face looks like it’s in pain, I’m going to wake you up.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

“Very sensible of you to relinquish the helm while you’re asleep. I swear I will not take advantage of y…the situation.”

“You are such a flirt.”

“Yeah, I guess I am. It’s better than living like I’m dead in the face of all this bullshit, though, right?”

“That’s exactly what I told Kate on the phone. Great minds think alike.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, First Mate.”

Silence. Thoughts. Somewhere, a dog barking. Then, a dream.


	5. Running Up That Hill

Soft, pale moonlight floods through the window that rests above you and your best friend. The pallor of her complexion assumes a dim luminescence that is pierced by a pair of neon blue eyes gazing unwaveringly into yours with an unexpected but not unwelcome intensity. In that moment between sleep and waking, when your mind shows you things it normally doesn’t, you follow the rabbit hole in her pupils down into the depths of your broken heart, where you catch a glimpse of the two of you standing in front of a house somewhere on a breezy summer day, arms around waists, camera in her free hand and a peace sign in yours. With a deft, practiced motion, Max _clicks_ and the camera’s flash throws up a canvas of blinding white that dissolves into darkness when the Max on the bed in front of you finally closes her eyelids under the heavy weight of sleep.

A solitary droplet falls from your right eye. Your breath stops as you witness the moon’s exquisite illumination encase your sorrow in a crystalline prison and shatter it against the denim covering your calf. You’re too tired to harden yourself. Your blurry eyes watch silently over the sleeping body of an angel too innocent and kind-hearted for the vicissitudes of adult life. You don’t want to share her with anyone. You’re the only one who should have her. After all, she’s the only one who _needs_ you.

Rachel once remarked that only stupid people have good relationships. That must make you a fucking genius.

Gentle, measured outbreaths through Max’s slender nose mist warm air against the triplet of bands that ring your right forearm as you run your fingers through her silky hair. She sleeps peacefully, so you let your right hand fall gently atop the down blanket enveloping her and continue threading chestnut brown strands through the fingers of your left hand. The rhythmic motion of your fingertips against her scalp soothes you; you begin to look around with eyes that have adjusted to the night’s shadowy contours. At Max’s feet lies her most faithful companion (apart from you): her tote bag.

If you really want to help her with her nightmares, it’s best that you understand exactly what they are.

With a yawn that stretches your mouth so wide that your jaw pops, you reach over to the dark, bulging mass and flip open the unlatched cover. When you go to reach inside, it’s with an icy hand whose painted nails resemble tiny blue jay eggs. Time slows while you run your eyes over the frosty knuckles of fingers that don’t feel cold. That’s when you notice Max up on one elbow looking at you with fog-shrouded irises that glow like sapphires and pierce your bones with an aching chill. Oh god, that gaze freezes you in place and swallows you whole – and you jerk back into the waking world where your hand is halfway down the back of Max’s head, mid-stroke, and you’re eyeing her tote bag while you caress your lower lip with your upper teeth.

You need to stay awake for Max. These unfamiliar clothes hug your skin the way a car wraps itself around a telephone pole, but restocking your wardrobe is the least of your worries right now. You need to figure out how to keep Max from going insane in her dreams, how to keep the trauma-coping scenarios her brain is generating from consuming her entirely. You wish there were some magical or metaphysical explanation that you could latch onto and worship, a deity to whom you could make offerings and appease in order to free Max from her nightly torment. If you had to enshrine a statue of Rachel and direct a herd of cult followers in ritual ministrations, you’d do it. For Max.

But this isn’t like one of your sleepovers with Rachel – you didn’t bother to snoop around and find out where Max’s parents sleep. When you hear a whimper coming from beside your legs in their half-crossed position, it sets your heart abuzz like a tuning fork that’s been struck by a metal rod. You have to stifle a surging roar of heated words that would burn down the house if you let them. Once you’ve composed yourself, you shake her shoulder gently with the calm movements of someone who’s done this dozens of times before. She half-opens her eyes briefly, then closes them again as she exhales through her nose and turns over onto her right side. A wave of relief cools the bellowing furnace in your rib cage. Your mind is free to wander once again.

You start thinking about where you’re going to go from here. The prospect of working as a waitress in a diner or delivering pizzas for tips is even less attractive than spending the rest of your days holed up in a messy attic bedroom stoned out of your mind listening to the same music on repeat. Floating among the clouds is only a temporary escape from the pain of loneliness that accompanies you with every step you take on the unforgiving pavement of parking lots and sidewalks where you used to spend your days putting up Missing Person posters in vain. You wonder how long it will be before Max’s ambitions as a professional photographer take her away from you. You hope that’s a long, long time from now because without her, without your socially awkward friend who thinks beer tastes disgusting and can’t dance worth shit, you’re completely and utterly lost. The future doesn’t exist without Max.

An hour passes in graveyard silence. Your head is still upright but your eyelids are struggling to resist the weight of the curtain being lowered on this day’s drama. There’s a sudden, frantic movement at the fringes of your vision that makes the bedding look like it’s vibrating. When your eyes focus, you see Max shivering beneath her down blanket. It’s not really that cold yet, in the tail end of October. You shake her again, like you did before, but this time nothing happens.

You lean over and whisper in her ear: “ _Max, wake up._ ”

She moans a slurred gibberish of words that sound like a sentence but make no sense. You look around reflexively even though you know nobody is watching. You try again, this time in your full-volume voice.

“Max, wake up!”

Max releases a grunt into a sharp exhalation that ends in a phlegmy cough. For a second you panic because it sounds like she’s going to throw up. You don’t want to let loose and bring Max’s parents swooping in to see what all the fuss is about, but you need to do _something_. You flip up the blanket, slide yourself underneath it next to her, and wrap your arms around her. You have a face full of soft, brown hair but you don’t mind, really. Come to think of it, you don’t mind at all.

Max’s shivering stops almost immediately. This close to her, you feel her muscles relax gradually, the tension fading. Her breathing settles into a familiar rhythm that before long has set you drifting away into the world of dreams. The starry night sky in the window above you cloaks the walls and ceiling and floor of Max’s bedroom in a midnight blue tapestry punctured by pinholes through which the flash of an unseen camera blinks eternally, capturing these precious moments in an unending cascade of Polaroid photographs.

* * *

You’re resting on the cool night grass at the base of a hill. There’s no lighthouse here – perhaps you’ve finally escaped it – just a cliff, the tallest cliff you’re ever seen. At the top of the rise you can barely make out a rail-thin figure in a sports bra and shorts and nothing else, not nearly enough to keep them warm in the chill night air. They stand up there, unmoving, looking out over a misty blackness that your eyes can’t penetrate. A compelling voice inside you beckons:

_Chloe, come here._

You start running up the winding dirt path before you as fast as your willow branch legs and deflated lungs will allow. As you do, gobs of black nicotine projectile vomit their way out of your mouth. Every cigarette you’ve ever smoked shits itself out the wrong end in a fire hose of tar that drowns the grass in death where it lands. As you lope up the tarry slope, you see the figure in the distance becoming ever more distant, a pale beacon lighting up a demented landscape that warps itself just to spite you.

You slow down to catch your breath, bending over and cupping your knees in your sweaty palms as your now-empty stomach rises and falls in time with your labored panting. You raise your head to look at the figure; it’s closer now than it was when you stopped – or so you think. That’s when you remember what you learned from the storybook tales of tricksters and paradoxes you read as a child: the best way to catch something is by pretending you’re not trying to catch it at all. So you saunter up the slope at a snail’s pace with steps that are firm and confident instead of plodding and half-assed. To your surprise, the form above you nears more quickly than you had imagined it would.

When you eventually reach the peak, the figure speaks to you without turning.

“Chloe, I don’t want to jump.”

Max’s voice coming from this disgusting creature is a dagger to your heart. Where a human body is supposed to be stands a collection of appendages connected tenuously at knobby bone ends by ligaments and tendons seemingly too feeble to support them. Her skull is covered in patches of sod-like hair that’s frayed and singed at the ends, like someone had set it on fire and put it out with a baseball bat. Her spine is a craggy mountain range piercing a thin veil of fleshy gauze. You’re actually glad she’s not looking at you because you don’t even want to know what her face looks like on this wretched frame.

You don’t know what to say, which means that you default to what you’ve always done in these situations: speak without thinking.

“Jump? What do you mean, Max?”

“I have no choice.” Max points down at the darkness below you with a calloused tendril where you’d expect to see an index finger. If you peer intently enough, you can make out moonlit waves far, far below you. “Green Lake,” she says. “I thought if I jumped here everything would go away. Everything would be all right. I killed everyone and now their bodies haunt my dreams. I know they’re disappointed in me for letting them die. They told me so in the diner.”

The diner? What the hell is she talking about? You’re struggling to come up with something that will help her, some way to talk her down…didn’t her friend – “Max, didn’t you keep Kate from doing this? Why would you do this to yourself?” You begin to walk toward her slowly in a quiet pair of borrowed sneakers that are almost too small for your feet; there’s no gun in her hand this time, but you’re not going to take a chance on spooking her into making an abrupt decision. If she jumps, you’re at least going with her.

“There’s nothing else left to do, Chloe. Nobody can help me. Not even you.”

And you’re standing behind Max with your arms wrapped around her as gently as you know how. She’s got one hand clasped around your left wrist and is caressing the side of your face with the other. You close your eyes in surrender as she strokes your jawline with her thumb. You can feel the fullness of her body in your arms now – your embrace has given flesh to her bones and warmth to her chalky skin. She’s wearing Rachel’s old checkered red and black plaid shirt and her ripped up blue jeans. The cold can’t touch her.

“Max Caulfield, you take that back _right now_.”

“All right, Chloe. I’m sorry…but what happens when a superhero needs a superhero? When an angel needs an angel?”

She strokes your cheek with the entirety of her hand. You press it against her palm. She’s got a full head of dark brown hair again. You sigh silently in relief.

“I’m not a superhero or an angel,” you confess to her. “But I’m here for you.”

“Chloe…” She turns her head slightly to one side as if listening to something, then nods at nothing in particular. “Your mother is calling us, Chloe.”

You wrest your face away from her fingers even though you don’t want to. Why would she say something like that?

“Dude, do not even fuck with me!”

Max doesn’t seem to notice your anger. If she does, she doesn’t show it. The muscles in her back ripple with a soothing stillness that floods you with peace. “I’m serious, Chloe. Joyce is down there, asking us to join her.”

You’re going to take Max at her word. You’re always going to take Max at her word.

“All right, Max. I’m coming with you. Put your arms around me and we’ll go in together.”

Max turns around in your embrace and smiles at you with soft, pink lips below a subtle canvas of freckles that remind you of a breezy summer day when…

You’re filled with an unfamiliar, buzzing energy when she puts her arms around you, arms lankier than any you’ve ever seen other than your own. They look fitting attached to the torso of her doll-like body. Her porcelain face and perfectly straight hair make you ache.

“Ready?”

Before you have the chance to respond, you’re freefalling backwards – you didn’t jump like you thought you would – through time and space and a dozen memories of the two of you floating through your consciousness like clouds through the midday sky: in your truck when you first met up with her at Blackwell Academy after five years apart; lazing on your bed in the American flag-filtered morning sunlight the night after you took a dip in the school’s swimming pool after hours; a brief meeting of your lips coupled with genuine shock after you dared her to kiss you, certain that she wouldn’t; Max wearing a striped shirt and cardigan as she strolls beside your wheelchair on the boardwalk along the beach – wait, what?

The water’s surface slams into your confused thoughts and drowns them in an oppressive, icy stillness that feels like it’s crushing your skull. Down, down, down you descend with Max clinging to you faithfully and as you do, the pressure above your neck begins to fade. It doesn’t take long before you’re standing on the bottom of the lake. Max is resting the side of her head on your shoulder and has both of her clumsy feet firmly on top of yours. Of course she does.

It’s then that you notice that your lungs have simply stopped breathing in response to being underwater.

The eyelets of your sneakers press painfully against your socks and skin when Max puts all of her weight on the balls of her feet – on purpose, it seems. A suffusion of cyan and teal explodes into view beneath you as you descend through the sinkhole entrance to an underwater grotto that comes to life with your arrival. Turquoise and aquamarine rays cast a fascinating array of patterned light on the rough walls of this breathtakingly beautiful place. You feel like you could stay here forever.

Stunning illumination highlights waist-height coral ledges that jut out of the rugged cave walls like open-palmed hands, each bearing a lifelike polished marble statue. There’s something in these carved blocks of stone that draws you to them. Max must sense it, too; she puts her arm around your waist and accompanies you as you walk toward the sculpture nearest to you. It hums with unusual energy, the kind you’d like to feel for yourself. You place your hand on the glowing white surface of its face, only to jolt back with a start when it opens its eyes. Teardrop-shaped earrings…long, straight hair…soft, full cheeks…

“Rachel?”

A lightning bolt fracture rends the statue from head to toe and it crumbles into jagged pieces. A blanket of blue coral descends upon the rubble. You shake your head in horror; a voice from behind you worms its way into your ears.

“Rachel’s gone, Chloe.”

You turn around to see your mother, a picturesque marble mannequin in her work uniform, her head turned to you with painfully bright eyes that shine like diamonds. You walk, transfixed, to where her effigy lies and lock eyes with it in a mutual gaze so intense that it feels like your insides are going to melt.

“Mom? What are you doing here?”

This statue doesn’t shatter itself, but something else entirely.

“Waiting for you to die, honey.”

White skin floods with raw, pink color that ripens to peach and decays into greyish green. Those shining eyes that look upon you with the thousand-yard stare of an exhausted marathon runner flicker and dim, then bulge out of their sockets until they bob on spaghetti string stalks. Eels slither through the grime-encrusted holes. Her mouth opens to reveal two rows of yellowed, decaying teeth that are shattered by a school of blood-red fish that turns sharply and circles around your mother’s head in a frenzied whirlwind of movement. You almost faint when you her screaming in agony. When the fish disappear, they leave behind a sanguineous patchwork face that no longer resembles anything you might call mother.

Your lips part with a scream, but instead your mouth releases a rapid-fire stream of tarry bubbles that break themselves against the hollows of Joyce’s skull and embalm it in twisted nightmare fuel. You can’t let this image linger in your mind as your final memory of your mother. You feel yourself coming unhinged. In desperation, you turn to Max for help. She puts her hands on your arms and squeezes tightly. Her lips move, but you can’t hear what she’s saying. It’s a message that isn’t meant for your ears, but for the light that still shines somewhere inside your battered soul: _you’re in control_.

And just like that your brain is awake inside your sleeping body; this has freaked you the fuck out like nothing else ever has since you were a child when you had your first lucid dream with no backdrop, no movie, just a blank canvas all around you. Perfect, pristine consciousness in a prison cell of blackness.

You understand exactly what Max’s nightmares are doing to her and that’s as much as you need to know.

You begin to do what you’ve always done to wake yourself up when something like this happens: you thrash about as if you’re drowning and scream with all your might, and then suddenly, without warning and for no reason that you can readily discern, you have lungs again. The exquisite power of your entirely too lucid dream becomes painfully real and you _are_ drowning, and muted sound _is_ coming out of your mouth.

You decide then and there that you are going to wake up or die trying, and there is nothing that _anyone_ in the world can do to change that, not even Max.

Not even Max?

She’s the one thing you have left in this world. The one person who still loves you. The –

You stop thrashing and look at her as your burning lungs swell within your chest. Her face looks so worried, so innocent, so…adoring. Your lungs are a volcano ready to erupt. You spend your last vapors of vital energy on a poem meant for her ears only:

“Max, I am never going to let you go. Do you hear me? As long as I am here, you will never have to worry about any of this ever again.”

Max looks up at your face like she never has in this lifetime, then kisses you on the lips.

Your body convulses with ten thousand volts of electricity. Your eyes are a field of crackling purple lightning. When you can see again, you’re lying in Max’s bed with your arms around her in the first glimmers of dawn’s light. Her face is buried in the pocket of the plaid shirt you’re wearing. She’s still asleep, breathing peacefully. You sit up as you inhale forcefully and loudly. Max stirs but doesn’t wake.

Now you know what it must have felt like when she came back from her time trips. Holy. Shit.

It takes several minutes for your ragged, panicked breathing to settle into a calm cadence. You’re vulnerable in a way that you haven’t felt in a long, long time. You need to talk to Max right now and tell her in the real world what you told her in your dream. You rock her body gently against yours until her eyes open and her lips come unglued. She looks up at you and smiles weakly when she sees how close your face is to hers.

“Max, I am never going to let you go…I…” Tears stream from your eyes onto your cheeks and slide down your chin.

“Chloe, I’m so tired,” she mumbles. Because of course she would. Here you are crying and all she can think about is herself or her broken camera or…

“I’m sorry, Max.” You put one hand on her shoulder. “Are you still tired? Do you want to go back to sleep? I’ll wait here with you until you’re up.”

“Yeah, I still feel sleepy. I just hope…”

You lie back down and take Max in your arms again. She’s got a strange look in her eyes when you embrace her, but you ignore it and apparently she does, too, because no sooner is her forehead up against your chest than you hear the steady rhythm of her breathing. No shivering, no drowning, just calm stillness, the way things are supposed to be.

She sleeps like that for another two hours, when the sun has already roused from its slumber beneath the horizon and children are playing outside in the cool October air like they’ve never been hurt.

* * *

When your eyes open, it’s because there’s a sharp pain coming from your upper chest, like a red fox has somehow crawled in through the window and is biting the flesh above your rib cage. You didn’t even realize that you had fallen asleep again. You look down to see Max with your breast in between her teeth. The buttons of your shirt have been undone.

“Dude…” Don’t be angry at Max. Don’t be angry. Never again. There’s a reason. There must be a reason.

Max releases her grip and looks at you with the most confident, knowing gaze you’ve ever seen from her. You sit up and reposition your bra, then fumble with the clasp as you frown at Max. She reaches behind you and hooks it for you while your arms fall limply to your sides.

“Sorry…” she says in a whisper as she finishes. You move your arms in front of you to button up your shirt, but Max grabs your wrists and places your hands on top of your legs. You arch your right eyebrow. You never arch your eyebrows.

“I saw you in my dream, Chloe. I saw you and you came into the water with me. Last time, I heard your voice but woke up before I saw you.”

“Maxine…” you sigh breathily. You know you have her attention when you call her that. You and her parents are the only ones in the world who can call her that.

“I had the same dream,” you confess, but it feels more like a confirmation than an admission. There’s a rush of power streaming through you like your body has no boundaries. It wipes away the nightmarish filth clinging to your emotions.

_In my dreams and in my not-dreams there was no girl as warm as you._

“I know, Chloe. You were there. We both were.” Max is still staring at you with someone else’s eyes. Your mind begins to race with possibilities. Maybe you don’t need those libraries and boxes of dreamcatchers and reams of deep web pages on mysticism and spirit realms and astral projection.

“You saw Joyce?” you ask, a half-question that barely rises at the end.

“In the neon blue cave,” she replies, completing your sentence.

“You know what this means, Max?”

“What?” She looks at you like you’re going to reveal the mysteries of the cosmos. It’s nothing like that. You’ve just figured something out, but don’t know how to nail it down using words.

“Now I can protect you in your nightmares. When I’m not freaking out, that is.”

“Wh…what do you mean?”

“Max, if we had the same dream...”

Max sits up with a frown on her face. “You think that stuff is real? Like dream walking?”

“Max, I have no idea what’s real and what’s not. If you had the power to rewind ti – ”

“That doesn’t make sense, Chloe,” she interrupts. “I thought the tornado was the end of all that stuff.” She looks worried. It’s probably for the best that you keep things simple. You’ll figure it out later and keep your mouth shut about it in the meantime.

“You’re right, Max. It was. It absolutely was. I…guess it’s just a strange coincidence. Whatever it is, I’m glad I was there in your dream, even if I did have to see my mom like that.”

Her posture relaxes. “Yeah…nobody should have to see their loved ones like that. I…saw you like that and couldn’t make you wake up, so I…”

Sounds like she had another dream. But no more questions.

“So you bit my boob? Classy, girlfriend. I don’t remember that part of the dream, but thanks.”

Somewhere inside you, an eruption. You understand now. You’ll see whether it’s true tonight.

“So how about that road trip?” you say cheerfully to lighten up the mood. “Now would be the perfect time to do it and take our mind off things.”

Max purses her lips and scrunches up her brow. She really needs to take a break from life for a while. So do you. Maybe later today you’ll stop _somewhere_. She’s looking at you like she’s reading your mind and disapproves of your thoughts. You wouldn’t mind so much if Max knew what you were thinking. It’s pretty predictable, anyways.

“What about your mother?” she says. “And David? Don’t you need to see to their memorial services?”

“The state government will take care of it. Including the part that involves money. I’ll pay my respects when this is all said and done and everything is behind us.”

“Chloe, don’t you think…”

“Max,” you begin with a hint of anger in your voice. You take a couple of deep breaths to relax yourself. Max waits patiently. “There are some things I understand in my head that are bad for me but I still do them. Remember in my truck when I told you I didn’t know how to accept responsibility for anything? I don’t know how to handle any of this shit emotionally except by pushing it all away and dealing with it when it’s ancient history. I understand this isn’t the best way to do it and _I’m still going to do it_.”

Max stares at you for a moment, then nods her head. “Ok, Chloe. I trust you. We’ll go on a road trip and deal with whatever it is we need to deal with when our emotions have settled down.”

“Awesome. This is too much for us. I mean, we’re barely adults. Nobody should have to deal with this. So we won’t. Not yet, anyways.” Max buttons up your shirt for you. You take it as a sign of approval.

“Ready for breakfast?” comes a voice from downstairs. Max’s Mom must have heard you talking. “Coming!” Max chirps as if she were still six years old in her Saturday morning cartoon pajamas just waiting to inhale a giant plate full of syrupy, manhole cover-sized pancakes. You wonder whether Max will ever grow up. You wouldn’t really mind if she didn’t.

The two of you glide down the stairs and into the kitchen with your arms around each other as has become your custom. You take a seat in the lacquered wooden chair that turned your ass into concrete yesterday. Max sits down next to you at the short edge of the table.

“Good morning,” Vanessa sings as she turns on the stove’s burners. She’s already got butter melting in one of the three pans that have been laid out. It’s a pretty big stove. Big enough for your appetite.

“What’ll it be, girls? Pancakes? Waffles? An omelet?”

“Um,” says Max. “Can I just have some Trix?”

You feign surprise at Max’s decision. “Max,” you say with a sly smile, “are you… _cereal_?”

Max and her mother share the same good-natured laugh that’s designed not to sound too much like a groan. You’re pretty sure Vanessa’s heard this one a thousand times before. “You’re beginning to sound like part of the family, Chloe.” She reaches into two separate cupboards, fishes out a bowl and box of cereal for Max, and hands them to her. “Milk’s in the fridge, honey. Chloe, what would you like for breakfast?”

Holy fucking jumping shitballs you are hungry. “Pancakes? And bacon? And eggs? And sausage?”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you have an appetite. It’ll be a bit. In the meantime, you can munch on rabbit food with Maxine if you’d like.” Vanessa winks at Max playfully.

“Gawd…Mom…”

Vanessa adds a fourth pan to the stovetop and begins making breakfast. Max pours her milk and munches on cartoon shapes and marshmallows while you stare out the sun-bathed window above her mother. The rest of the kitchen is pretty boring; Vanessa must take lessons from Mary Poppins on organization and cleanliness. It looks like one of those photographs you’d find in Better Homes and Gardens.

So it’s rather unexpected when she takes a plate from the medium-height stack next to her and places it a hair too close to the edge of the counter. You get up to move it. Max must be on the same wavelength, because she does, too. When left-handed Vanessa takes a spatula to slide the pancakes out of the pan, she angles her arm too wide and strikes the plate with her elbow.

You see Max reaching her hand out. She’s told you what happens when she does this.

The sound of your fingers slap-grabbing Max’s wrist is followed by the plate shattering on the floor. Vanessa is understandably confused when she turns around.

“Is everything all right?” she says with a pair of perfectly brown pancakes perfectly balanced atop a butter-rimmed black plastic spatula. Unlike Max, her mother isn’t clumsy, so this seems…odd.

Max has a guilty look on her face, like she knows you know. She looks down at the floor. When you see this, you relax your grip.

“Yeah, Mom,” she says without looking up. “Chloe just didn’t want me to get hurt trying to catch the plate.”

Vanessa looks at you, then at Max. She places the pancakes atop the stack of plates next to her, puts the spatula down, and carries the top plate in both hands over to the table, careful to skirt around the ceramic fragments in her thin socks. “Well, it’s good that Chloe is looking out for you. You’re more important to me than dishware. I’ll grab the broom and dustpan.”

“I’ll do it, Vanessa,” you say. “You’re nice enough to make breakfast for me. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you, Chloe,” says Vanessa. She doesn’t feign modesty by protesting. You like that. “The broom and dustpan are in the side closet by the entryway.”

“All right,” you say. When Vanessa’s turned her back to you, you whisper into Max’s ear: “ _You need to forget all about that._ ” You release her bony wrist and walk to the closet. Max sits back down at the table and eats her cereal in silence.

Vanessa’s a good cook and a fast one at that. You’ve swept up all the little bits of plate and are just putting them in the trash can when a snapshot-worthy arrangement of bacon, eggs, and sausage floats down on a cream-white plate that comes to rest next to its pancake-laden sister. Meanwhile, Max is starting on her second bowl of cereal.

Vanessa’s cooking is as tasty as anything you’ve ever had in a restaurant. When you’re done eating – which you’ve done in record time this morning – you feel the same kind of cozy satisfaction you did when you ate your mom’s cooking at the Two Whales. Thinking about it makes your eyes redden. You’re tearing up. Max notices this and quickly looks away so she doesn’t start up, too.

Vanessa doesn’t look away. She knows all too well what’s going on. You spent all afternoon and evening yesterday yelling at her and now you feel like shit for it. But you’re both out of words. She puts her arms around your neck and kisses you on the cheek as if you were her own daughter.

You’ve heard that daughters grow up to be like their mothers. If that’s the case, Max is going to be pretty awesome.

Vanessa removes her arms from your neck and smiles at you as she runs her left hand through your blue hair that’s slowly beginning to turn strawberry blonde again. You’re too embarrassed to look at her.

“I’m going to go start some laundry, girls. I’ll be back later to take care of the dishes.”

“I’ll do the dishes,” you say. Max’s eyebrows pluck up. You get up out of your chair and start running the water to make it more difficult for Vanessa to protest. She doesn’t.

“That’s very nice of you, Chloe. Thank you.” You wait until you can’t hear Vanessa’s footsteps on the basement stairs any more before you start rinsing plates. The wheels in your head are spinning and you think better when you’re doing something with your hands. (It’s the second best thing to lying in bed and smoking out.) You’ve got a plan that will take your mind and Max’s mind off everything. During the day, anyways. You’re still working on figuring out Max’s nightmares.

You’re thinking about the particulars when Max’s voice pierces the silence. “So, Captain, what are we going to do on our road trip?” You’re glad she asked. You are hella down for that road trip.

“Max, you read my mind,” you say. “I heard you talking to your friend Kate on the phone. Overheard.”

“You spent enough time in the kitchen. I suppose you must have heard everything. Uh…sorry, I didn’t mean it that way…I mean…you needed to…”

“Max, it’s cool. It’s me, Chloe. You don’t have to hedge everything you say. Just say it. Complete honesty. All right? Just say whatever it is you want to. Like just now, I grabbed your arm because I thought you were rewinding.”

“I was just trying to catch the plate.”

“Yeah, I overreacted. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re here to protect me, right? The best way for you to do that is if we’re completely honest with each other.”

“Right. So, a confession.” You take the silver spiral scourer from the small bowl beside the faucet and start scrubbing the pans. You puff up your chest and release the air slowly. You’re not used to doing this – you’re used to hiding things from pretty much everybody. “I want to help you with your nightmares. So, I thought about reading your journal while you were asleep. But I didn’t, because that would violate our trust.” You turn to her with a cheeky grin on your face. “See? I’m not a complete ass.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you had read it,” replies Max. “I mean, sometimes I write directly to you, like you’re already reading it.”

You stop scrubbing and look over at her. “Max, you ass. You mean you write in your journal thinking that I might decide to secretly read it?”

“Well…”

Your eyes return to the sink. “I’m impressed and flattered. You know me better than I thought you would after five years.” You smile where Max can’t see it. “You’re not writing me any love poems, are you? Because then I _would_ have to read it.”

You swivel your head coyly to check out her reaction and Max blushes before she can turn her head away – you can see the redness spreading to the back of her neck as plain as sunburn or lipstick.

She coughs weakly. “I…uh…sort of…since the tornado my feelings have been in overdrive and I can’t stop thinking about…you.”

This isn’t entirely unexpected, but you still don’t know how to deal with it. So you play it off.

“It’s cool, Max. Your emotions got the on switch and mine got the off switch. I don’t feel anything except hurt right now and I’m doing my best to block it out after yesterday’s marathon waterfall session. Hence, the road trip. So, let’s do that and see how we feel after a couple of weeks of getting the hell away from all this and doing the things we said we were going to.”

“Except…maybe not back in Oregon. I don’t think I can handle that.”

“No, definitely not in Oregon…unless…”

“Unless what?”

This is the good part – the part where you feel a little bit like yourself again.

“You said Kate’s parents are being super-protective of her after what happened, right?”

“Yeah…they don’t even want her talking to me. Us.”

“Not cool. She may not be as free-spirited as we are, but she needs an outlet for her feelings and emotions. What did you say you wanted to do together? Drink coffee?”

“A tea tour.”

“And they haven’t found another school for her yet?”

“I think they have her locked up in church for the time being.”

And now the most important part.

“How old is she?”

“Uh…when I looked in her file in the principal’s office it said her birthday is September 12th…19…95.”

“So she’s eighteen. An adult.”

You look at Max with your hands still submerged in soapy dishwater. Max looks at you from out of the corner of her right eye like she’s suspicious of what’s going on, which is unusual because you’ve never seen her do that before. It’s almost as if there’s someone else sharing her body. Someone who really likes children’s cereal.

“Let’s kidnap Kate,” you say.

Max spit-blasts a stream of cereal and milk all over the table. Her pale face looks like she’s just tasted a spoonful of cigarette butt ice cream. You’re looking into her eyes, at her cheeks, her lips, for any hint of amenability to persuasion. There’s no need. Gradually, her frown softens into a glare that takes on a neutral expression before becoming a smile. Her face regains its natural color and you see the woman in her, just now beginning to blossom, the freckles on her cheeks the birthmarks of a vibrant life waiting to be lived.

She’s beautiful. How did you not notice this before?

“Chloe, that’s the best fucking idea you’ve ever had,” she finally responds. You want to kiss the freckles off her face.

“You’re damn right it is. So let’s finish breakfast and get ready to go to church. Kate’s church.” The smile on your face is so big you think your cheeks might fall off, if that’s possible.

Max gets up out of her chair and glides over to you. She puts her hand on your forearm. There’s an electricity, a vitality, a million sunbeams flooding your body with warmth you never knew existed. Your pain fades, your anger dissolves, your fears collapse, your fragmented world is made whole in a way you’ve forgotten.

This is the way it’s supposed to be. This is the way it’s always supposed to have been.


	6. Doorway to a Thousand Churches

Chloe and I could have passed as twins in our matching outfits. We were in a department store in downtown Seattle trying on shoes, dresses, and hats that we thought would make us fit in at Kate’s church. Our biggest problem wasn’t that we didn’t know what was in fashion among people who attended Sunday services – nope, we were having major issues finding something that we could actually take seriously.

“Getting married so soon, Max?” Chloe was eyeing me up and down in the fitting room’s full-length mirror as I turned from shoulder to shoulder in an “angel white” long-sleeved church dress whose hem floated just above my knees. I’ve never been much for dressing up, but I really liked the way it looked on me. I think maybe with a band of white flowers in my hair I’d be the perfect bridesmaid. Or bride.

“This dress makes me feel really special,” I replied. “Maybe I could hold on to it until I _do_ get married.” I tried showing it off with a graceless pirouette that ended up highlighting my scrawny white legs as I planted my right foot in front of me to stop myself from falling on my ass. The frilly lace-ringed bowler hat I had picked out tilted off my head and landed on the floor with a soft _plop_. Chloe was nice enough not to laugh out loud as she knelt down and picked it up for me. I knew what the coy smile on her face meant, though.

“You look super cute in it, Max,” she said cheerfully as she placed the hat right-side up on the bench in front of us. “If that’s the one you want, you might as well take it out for a spin in a place where people get married. Well, in Washington, anyways.” She winked at me in the mirror, then turned to look over her second choice hanging on the wall: a blue sequin lace jacket dress. She was about to slip off her white pencil dress when she looked back over her shoulder to see whether I was sneaking a peek. I was.

She didn’t hold back her laughter this time. “Didn’t your skin match your dress just a second ago?”

“Yeah…” I exhaled weakly. Contrary to what you might think, it was the offhand comment about marriage that had thrown me for a loop. She had done it once before when the only thing I cared about was keeping Chloe safe and helping her find her missing friend. This time, though, my protective instincts were rubbing elbows with trepidation and desire, just the kinds of emotions that make for some pretty painful anxiety bombs.

I pretended to look myself over in the mirror so I wouldn’t be distracted by the sight of Chloe changing into her blue dress with matching flower-banded bell hat and leather dress pumps. I did turn my head when I heard muffled clomping sounds coming from the carpeted floor.

“Holy hell these things are going to be hard to walk in,” she grunted. Those pumps were definitely not her style. I don’t remember the last time I had seen her wearing anything other than sneakers or boots. I think part of her problem was that in trying to force them on, she had flattened the backs of the shoes under her heels.

“You might want to try putting them on all the way,” I teased.

She stopped stomping and looked over her shoulder at the backs of her feet. “Oh, yeah. You’re right.” She tried using her index finger to wrench them on and quickly became frustrated. It was when she sat down on the bench and reached for a shoehorn that I noticed medium-sized, light blue bruises on her shins.

“Chloe,” I said with a mix of panic and mortification in my voice. “What happened to your legs?”

“What? What are you – “ She looked down at her shins. “Oh, that. I got really wasted last week and fell down on the steps on the way up to my room. I was too out of it to climb through the window above the roof like I normally do – did – when David is home…was home…never mind.”

I knew she didn’t want to talk about anything related to memories of Arcadia Bay right then, but I was so worried about what could have happened to her that the words spilled out of my mouth before I could bottle them up.

“How did you get home?”

Chloe stopped in mid-shoehorn and looked up at me with a seriousness in her eyes that I don’t often see. She didn’t want to lie to me, I think, but she didn’t want to tell me, either. It was my fault for asking in the first place, so I continued the conversation for her.

“You won’t have to do that anymore. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

And with that, Chloe finally had both pumps on her feet. “Thanks, Max. There’s a lot of stuff I won’t have to do now that you’re around.” She stood up awkwardly and scrunched up her face. “It feels like they’re ripping the skin off my ankles.” She took a few hesitating steps and shook her head. “These aren’t going to work.”

“Well, maybe you could just wear a pair of regular shoes,” I offered. “Without heels. I think that’s become more acceptable nowadays.” Not that I would know. I just wanted to sound helpful.

“That is _definitely_ what I am going to do, Max.” Chloe grimaced as she pulled the shoes off her feet, then placed them back inside their box gently. “Do you think you could find me something in light blue that looks decent?”

Unbeknownst to Chloe, I had picked out a pair of blue velvet slippers when I saw her go for the sequined jacket. I thought she might have trouble wearing heels. I slid the box out from its hiding place underneath the bench and removed the cardboard top. She looked genuinely surprised.

“Wow. Now I really can’t lie to you about anything. You’ll just automatically know what I’m thinking.” She took the slippers out of their box and they slid onto her feet without difficulty. “And vice versa,” she added playfully as she turned her feet at different angles in the mirror.

“Wowser…” I said aloud before I even realized I had said it. She looked _really_ good in those shoes.

“See? I _knew_ you were thinking about how cute I look.” She did a pirouette like the one I had done earlier and stopped herself on a dime. Chloe wasn’t clumsy at all. “Well, we don’t match now and I think you’d make a better-looking runway model than I would, but I’ll go out on the town with you any day, _Maxine_.”

I smiled at her in the mirror. Flattery would get her everywhere. “So, if anyone asks, we’re…” Should I? Could I? I don’t know how well that would go over in a church. Or whether Chloe would be game. Maybe not. “…sisters.”

“All right, sister. So what’s the plan? I haven’t come up with anything beyond ‘grab Kate while her parents aren’t looking and run.’”

“Um…we somehow convince Kate to go with us on a road trip and take it from there. Oh, and we totally win over her parents. Or blow them off.” How we were going to deal with a mother and father who didn’t treat their adult daughter like an adult was something I hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“I like it,” Chloe said reassuringly. “But how are we going to pull it off?”

“I’m still working on that one. Let’s grab coffee and think on the road.”

“Awesome idea, Captain.”

Chloe must have still had those heels on her mind because she nearly tripped on the way out of the store, drawing a concerned look from the cashier. She raised an assuring hand as she scampered out the door and around the corner where she couldn’t be heard muttering about how she’d rather be comfortable than look good. She settled down fairly quickly, though, as she adjusted to her new shoes.

“These are a lot better, but I am hella not used to walking in them.”

“I guess it’s a bit different than clomping around in boots,” I joked.

“Or skater shoes,” she added.

I leaned into her playfully as we walked and she responded by putting her arm around me. I had never seen her like this – she looked entirely too well-behaved and with a fashion sense that must have gone out of style ninety years ago. The few stray wisps of blue hair peeking out from underneath the brim of her cloche added to the charm of her stage costume.

“So, Max, are we cosplaying now?” she asked me.

“You dork,” I replied. “Cosplaying is when you dress up as specific characters. This is just…roleplaying. You seriously didn’t know the difference?”

“Nope. That’s why I asked, Queen of the World. On second thought, forget I asked. I think I’m probably better off not knowing about some of this weird stuff you’re into.” She bumped her hip into mine and smiled at me.

“You suck,” I said as I smiled back at her. What I really meant was: _I love you_.

* * *

We headed out of Seattle with a pair of lattes from a local place. I had looked up Kate’s church on mom and dad’s laptop at home – the website was incredible, featuring a really slick, professional design and awesome Flash widgets everywhere. Kate’s picture was even featured in the Who’s Who section underneath Pastor Richard Marsh, her father. So when Chloe asked me…

“Which way to Kate’s church?”

…I brought up my Maps app and gave her directions to _Immaculate Repentance_ , a self-described “modern church” in the heart of rural Oregon just outside Cherry Grove. It’s a small town somewhere near the midpoint between Arcadia Bay to the west and Portland to the east. I thought the building might be hard to find since it was basically out in the middle of nowhere, but holy shit was I wrong. We hadn’t been off highway 47 for more than five minutes when we saw what looked like a giant glass dome looming in the distance.

“No way,” said Chloe as she leaned over the steering wheel trying to peer up to the top of the dove-flanked cross situated atop the demi-globe. “That is _not_ Kate’s church.”

I guess I had been so engrossed in looking for information on Kate on the church’s website that I forgot to check out an actual photo of the building’s exterior.

Well, here it was, front and center, threatening to take up the entirety of Chloe’s windshield. It was like every building at Blackwell Academy had been lego-bricked together into one giant, white, seamless ultra-building, capped by a beautiful glass upside-down bowl that looked like a snow globe. The church’s name was printed in majestic block letters that faced the highway. They made me feel small and insignificant.

“I looked it up online, Chloe. It said this is her church. From the family photos I saw in her room, I would have thought they were a bit more…old-fashioned in their sensibilities.”

“Who knows?” Chloe replied as she leveled her gaze on the sprawling complex in front of us. “Maybe they upgraded?” She panned from left to right as she took in the approaching parking lot, an enormous stretch of pavement swarming with glossy cars that could easily swallow up three or four lesser parking lots. I half-expected to see glass booths with security arms and valets.

Chloe spoke up again. “The real question is…where the hell did all these people come from? This parking lot is _huge_. And it’s packed. It’s like half of Portland drives out here for hellfire and brunch.”

“Well,” I said as Chloe pulled in and starting looking for a parking space. “We should have no problem blending in. Speaking of which, maybe we should park in the back so we don’t stick out in the middle of all these Mercedes Benzes and BMWs.” Every one of these parking spots was the equivalent of an average person’s yearly income. If Kate’s family was well off, they sure were modest about it.

“Good plan, Max. I’m actually glad there are so many people here. Makes it easier to talk to them.”

“Since when have you ever had problems messing with people?” I teased her. “It seems to be your specialty.”

Chloe smiled at me and put her hand on my back. “Even the great magicians get nervous before they perform their tricks. Ready to go on stage?”

“Ready,” I replied with caffeine-infused confidence.

“Awesomesauce. So what did you come up with, Girl Genius?”

“Okay. So, we tell her parents that we’re recovering from Arcadia Bay and that we want to help our new community in Seattle by becoming involved in the Meals on Wheels program. We invite Kate out for a tea tour of Portland to talk about her experiences with community outreach and promise to bring her back in time for evening services.”

Chloe rested her hands on the bottom of the steering wheel as she looked through the windshield in silence. After a short while, she turned her head to me and fixed her eyes on mine. “So, your plan is to tell the truth? I mean, minus the Meals on Wheels part.”

“No, I actually wouldn’t mind doing that. You remember when I told you I wanted to do something good for my city? I meant it.”

“Telling the truth and meaning it. I never would have thought of that.” For once, Chloe didn’t sound sarcastic at all.

“That’s basically it,” I concluded.

“Sounds like a plan, girlfriend. I’ll try to let you do most of the talking since it sounds like I won’t be pulling any rabbits out of hats.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Not at all. I have faith in you, Max.”

Chloe found an open spot next to a weathered Mazda 323 that looked like it had seen better days – perfect camouflage for our rolling rust bucket. We closed the doors behind us gently so as not to draw any attention to ourselves and started the long walk to the church’s massive oak entrance doors. There were lots of people milling about and chatting with each other; some of them were even tailgating like they were at a football game. There was a festive atmosphere to it all that put me at ease. Chloe, on the other hand, looked like she was about ready to bite someone’s face off.

“You okay, Chloe? You look…”

“Pissed off? It’ll go away. I’m just uneasy around places like this.”

She took my hand in hers. My face was on fire again.

“Chloe, please go easy on Kate’s dad. He’s the only one who supported her.”

“Are you reading my mind again, Max?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Her father will be spared the wrath of Chloe.”

* * *

“Good afternoon,” a pair of pleasant voices cooed in unison. My eyes were immediately drawn to the young man’s blinding smile – it looked like he had used three tubes of toothpaste on each tooth. Both he and his female compatriot were smartly dressed in earth-toned business casual clothing that served to accentuate their copper-hued name badges. I suddenly wondered whether we shouldn’t have dressed more conservatively.

“Good afternoon,” Chloe and I replied in our own brand of sing-song as we walked through a pair of towering wooden doors that looked like they could have been two halves of a castle’s drawbridge in earlier times. Once inside, the meaning of the phrase “modern church” became apparent: we found ourselves in a fastidiously maintained, fashionably carpeted shopping mall whose ceiling was the high glass dome we had seen from the road. From the inside, you could get dizzy trying to see to the top of it. The church’s parishioners were, without exception, nicely dressed and, to my relief, wore a variety of different styles and colors. Chloe and I were just a pair of colorful gups in a sprawling sea of rainbow fish.

We stepped off to one side and leaned against the curvature of the interior wall so we could get our bearings. As I watched the ebb and flow of humanity in this place, I began to notice all the smiling families with well-behaved toddlers in tow or babies in strollers. It wasn’t just a few here and there, either. Chloe leaned over and whispered in my ear: “There are babies _everywhere_ , Max. Let me know if you need to borrow a condom.”

I blushed even harder than I already was. “Here?” I breathed. “I don’t think I’ll need one. Do you see anyone who _isn’t_ attached at the hip to someone else?”

“Nope,” she said as she squeezed my hand ever so slightly and pulled me away from the wall. She was leading me toward a centrally located sculpture that appeared to be a post-minimalist or possibly cubist arrangement of polished rectangles with smoothed edges. We hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when she stopped in place. “You cannot be serious,” she laughed. “They have a dynamically updated map.”

I followed Chloe around to the right-hand side of the display and laughed out loud at myself: the “sculpture” was a fucking directory. It featured an enormous LED screen that showed which rooms were in use and by how many people. (I wonder how they counted them?) Much to our surprise, the church had three levels that housed all kinds of things we never would have expected to find in a place like this. We started gleefully rattling off their names from the index.

“Vending machines!” Chloe exclaimed.

“ATM,” I replied.

“Gift shop, yeah, I guess that’s not so remarkable. Are you kidding me? _Concessions stand_? Dude, we are so getting cotton candy. I totally knew the Pope would be down with sugar bombs.”

I snickered through my nose. The list of locations was impressively long: a child care center, counseling services, music studio, indoor playground, tennis courts, nurse’s office…these people took their churching very, very seriously. Some of Kate’s family had taken it too seriously for her own good.

As we gawked at the directory, I spied some of the staff members staring at us very politely in their light brown suits and shiny name badges. I was guessing they had either noticed that we were probably newcomers or that we were holding hands. I was starting to feel nervous.

“Um, Chloe…”

“What’s up, Max?”

“I think we should focus on looking for where Kate might be.” I scanned the list again.

“Max, do you believe in fate?” Chloe asked me out of nowhere. I was studying the directory, looking for the location of the pastors’ offices or maybe even Mr. Marsh’s personal study.

“I don’t know, Chloe. Maybe? Is that going to help us find Kate?” The names of the preachers _were_ listed: Knights, Lamont, Marsh – there he was.

“Yep. Look to your left.”

I snapped back to reality, turned my head, and there was Kate, her bush of cinnamon bun hair ringing a pair of innocent eyes that were darkened by the intensity of the furrow in her brow. She was still wearing the same old cardigan and golden cross necklace. I smiled and waved animatedly. Chloe put on her best shit-eating grin and waved with even more enthusiasm.

Kate looked to her left and right cautiously, then padded toward us on the balls of her feet as if she expected to be ambushed in mid-stride. When she reached us, she was rubbing her right wrist with her left hand nervously, her eyes locked on mine with unnerving intensity.

“Max, what are you doing here?” she hissed under her breath. She barely parted her lips when she said it. Was Kate _angry_?

“Hey, Kate,” I said cheerfully. “We just came to visit you. How are you feeling?”

Kate’s eyes weren’t red, but she did look pretty tired. Or out of it.

“Max, I –”

“Katie, there you are!” Kate jumped in place as a woman with painfully straight hair and an obnoxious pearl necklace sitting atop an immaculate button-up white jacket dress strode up briskly from behind her. Kate lowered her head and hunched up her shoulders in response. “I had trouble finding you. It’s time for devotionals.” The woman didn’t even give us a first glance, much less a second. I just about lost it when she grabbed Kate by the upper arm and hauled her off.

“Fuck that,” I heard Chloe growl as we watched them walk away. A couple of heads turned in our direction but we ignored them. Kate looked like a child tripping over her own feet trying to keep up with her chaperone’s merciless gait. I was shaking with anger.

Right on their heels in the opposite direction came a very lively group of young ladies who were apparently so preoccupied with their conversation that they walked right between Chloe and me and forced our hands apart. Almost like they had done it on purpose. We had no choice but to overhear their conversation in passing.

“Oh, I don’t know. Do you think it’s all right to let your husband do it by himself?”

“Yeah, I mean, what if you’re running errands and he…really needs to do it?”

One of the girls looked over her shoulder at Chloe and frowned dramatically. The smile on Chloe’s face disappeared instantly.

“I don’t know,” Chloe bellowed. “My mother always said orgasms are little eruptions of sin.”

Frowning girl stopped in place, opened her mouth in shock, and covered it with a hand whose nails were well manicured and perfectly painted.

“And my mother was an _egregious_ sinner,” Chloe added at full volume. The other girls gasped and hurried away, glancing back at her furtively and chattering busily amongst themselves. Frowning girl was so intent on memorizing the contours of Chloe’s face that she had to be shoulder-guided by her friend to avoid walking face-first into a support pillar.

More heads had turned toward us. Fuck them.

“So what do we do now, First Mate?” I asked warily. “Kate’s just been keelhauled by a scallywag who doesn’t even acknowledge our existence.”

“We follow her,” she said without hesitating and took my hand again. She strode off at a vigorous pace in the direction we had seen Kate being taken. I almost had to run to keep up with her.

As if on cue, up popped a lean, middle-aged man with a pleasant, fatherly countenance and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that belonged to a bygone era. He looked like a famous novelist, the type who would hang out in a Parisian café in the 1920s, not a _mega-church_ in 2013.

“Good afternoon, girls. I’m terribly sorry for eavesdropping –” Chloe stepped right around him without a glance. “Max, is it?” he said as I walked past him. It was enough to make me stop where I was. “Go,” I said to Chloe and released her hand. She broke into a full run that threatened to send her lightweight velvet slippers flying off her feet.

“Yes,” I replied harshly as the man’s eyes followed the backs of Chloe’s legs. His timing was suspiciously convenient. “It didn’t take you very long to put a GPS on us, Mr. Marsh. We haven’t even been here five minutes.”

He raised his eyebrows for a brief moment. “I recognized you from Kate’s photographs,” I explained.

“A pleasure to meet you in person, Max,” he replied without missing a beat. “We cannot thank you enough for what you did for Kate. I just happened to be passing through on my way to pick her up and escort her to her devotionals, but it appears her mother is taking care of that.”

“Yes, she certainly is,” I snapped. “Kate is an adult. What the hell are you doing letting your wife haul her off like she’s a child? You know she’s part of the reason Kate went up there in the first place.”

Mr. Marsh looked genuinely taken aback. “Max, Kate is here with us in a safe environment now, making the transition to a healthy adult life. We’re trying to make sure that her fragile mental state is fully repaired before she goes back out into the world. My wife means well, but she does not temper her convictions as well as she should. I will talk with her.”

“So will I,” I shot back, then took off running. I ignored Mr. Marsh’s voice when he called out after me.

I stomped around the corner as fast as I could and narrowly avoided a bulky man in a light brown suit who appeared to be watching Chloe from a distance. When I rolled up on her, she was talking very animatedly with Kate’s mother who bore a look on her face that screamed _I will not be fucked with_.

“…really need to talk with Kate about –”

“…that won’t be possible. Not today. Excuse us, now, we’re –”

“...Kate is an adult and deserves to be treated like one, don’t you –”

“…stay out of my family’s business! The audacity you have to tell me –”

That was when Chloe grabbed Kate by the arm and started pulling her away from her mother.

“What in the _world_ do you think you are doing, young lady? Get your hands off my daughter this instant!”

“Mom, I…” said Kate weakly.

“Not a word from you!” her mother snapped and tightened her grip on Kate’s other arm. Kate had turned into the focal point of a tug-of-war. I raced down the hallway as fast as my untrained legs and lungs would allow me.

“Wait!” I shouted, out of breath and feeling like I was ready to puke. “Stop!”

“Mr. Luna,” barked Mrs. Marsh. “Please lend a hand.”

I came to a noisy stop just short of Chloe and turned to see the man in the light brown suit from earlier making a beeline toward her with a kindly but stern look on his face. Instinctively, I stepped in front of Chloe’s back. He was in front of me quicker than I had anticipated.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said politely and then grabbed me by the arms not-so-politely. I made a startled gurgling sound in response.

I was staring at the whites of Mr. Luna’s eyes when I saw the balled up fingers of Chloe’s left hand strike his cheek in the place where it meets the jaw. The impact sounded a loud _thwack_ that sent him staggering back a couple of steps with the palm of his hand against his face. I turned toward Chloe and wrapped my arms around her to stop her from doing it again. She froze in place; I could still feel the tension in her muscles.

“Just a moment, just a moment, everyone,” came Mr. Marsh’s voice from behind us. His breathing sounded deep and practiced; his lean frame was probably perfect for running marathons. He placed himself between Kate and Chloe while brushing off his tailored wool suit and adjusting his shiny name badge without looking at it. “Dear, I’ll take Max and Chloe to get some coffee while Kate attends her devotionals. Girls, I assure you that you can talk to Kate when she’s done. You have my word. Please, everyone, let’s just relax. Mr. Luna, I trust you can forgive Chloe. She’s just lost everything in the tornado that swept through Arcadia Bay.”

I could see that Mr. Luna was clearly shaken from the way he plodded over to Mr. Marsh. He nodded his head solemnly while rubbing his cheek. “I forgive you, Chloe,” he said in a pleasant, soothing baritone.

_Even if forgiving is a hard thing to do…_

It wasn’t enough to quell my anger, but I wasn’t about to punch anyone in the face, so I raged instead. “Chloe saw the way her step-father, may he rest in peace, bullied Kate at Blackwell Academy in his capacity as head of security there before he realized that what he was doing was wrong. What she’s seeing now looks an awful lot like more of the same, Mrs. Marsh.”

Kate’s mother looked at me with smoldering eyes as if I were the devil himself. The last time someone had looked at me like that was when Chloe’s stepfather saw me stepping out of my hiding place in her closet to take the blame for her weed. I wasn’t scared this time.

Chloe sure as hell wasn’t either. She rounded on Mrs. Marsh, shoving her shocked husband aside with a gentle, assertive forearm. “What are you looking at?” she growled and latched onto Kate’s arm again. Mrs. Marsh’s expression changed from fierce to worried almost immediately as she fished her cell phone out of her jacket’s front pocket. She looked up and down the hall frantically, then turned away from us, Kate’s arm still hanging limply in the vice grip of her bony fingers. We weren’t going to win this one without hurting Kate.

“Chloe…” I said softly.

“Fine,” she said tersely and released her hold on Kate. In an instant, Kate’s mother had switched her grip to Kate’s hand and disappeared with her into a room three doors down from where we stood. We heard the door shut softly, followed by the _thunk_ of a lock. Chloe turned to Mr. Marsh who appeared, for the first time, to be genuinely surprised by the extent to which Chloe had reacted. “I’m sure coffee is just what I need to take the edge off,” she quipped sarcastically.

* * *

We followed Mr. Marsh wordlessly through winding hallways to a massive, open area that was home to an ocean of tables and trash containers, tiled floors that were somehow actually clean, and natural autumn air wafting in through massive, slanted window panes overhead, leaving only hints of fresh chicken, pizza, and jerk sauce lingering in our nostrils. Immaculate Repentance really was immaculate.

There were tons of families sitting everywhere eating burgers and yogurt and mozzarella sticks and anything else you could think of that kids would want for lunch. What blew my mind was that when they were done, the parents would bus the tables and sweep the floors themselves like they were eating in their own home.

Chloe exhaled audibly through her nose. “You think the coffee is at least decent at Jesus Christ Superstarbucks?” she asked under her breath.

I giggled. At least she had calmed down a bit. “Only one way to find out,” I replied.

We walked up to the coffee shop which was nestled in a relatively quiet corner of the food court next to an ATM. The fire-haired barista behind the bakery display looked like she had nothing better to do than sing gospel hymns to herself all day while polishing everything in sight. Her eyes lit up when she saw Mr. Marsh; she nearly knocked over a paper cup filled with stirring sticks as she excitedly buffed the countertop into oblivion.

“Hello, Pastor! What can I get for you and our friends?”

“The usual, Shannon,” Mr. Marsh replied.

“I’ll have a large café latte,” I said.

“Ok, a grande. And for you, ma’am?”

“Latte macchiato. Hella large.”

“Sure thing. All righty, so…” She twisted her lips to one side and turned to her preoccupied co-worker standing at the machines behind her, a pale young woman with platinum blonde hair done up in a medium-length ponytail. “Hey, Ash, do we have a size called _hello large_?”

Ash shook her ponytail from side to side without looking up from her magazine.

“Just make it the biggest size you have,” I clarified.

“Ok, a venti.” Shannon turned her freckled face to one side and called out our orders with a practiced voice: “One grande dark and dreamy, one venti sweet and creamy, and one mocha!”

“Coming right up!” came the response as Ash flipped her magazine shut.

“The hell is that about?” Chloe muttered.

“Your mom never talked like that in the Two Whales?” I said it without thinking. I didn’t mean to. Chloe didn’t seem to care.

“Nope. She just called the food what it was. She never did get into all that _surf and turf_ stuff. She kept it real.”

I closed my mouth and kept it that way, even when we sat down at a secluded circular table and Mr. Marsh began sipping his mocha politely. Chloe crossed her arms and stared at her milk with coffee. I caressed the cardboard sleevelet that sheathed my coffee with milk while examining the granite-flecked patterns on the tabletop.

Mr. Marsh broke the silence. “Max, we are in your eternal debt. There is only one other to whom I owe that, which puts you in esteemed company. I cannot thank you enough for convincing Kate to return to us.”

I stopped fidgeting with my coffee cup. “To be honest, Mr. Marsh, I’m wondering why you feel you need to treat your adult daughter like that. What your wife is doing is not right.”

Mr. Marsh looked down at the table. I let my anger get the better of me.

“I saw how your family’s response hurt her, Mr. Marsh. You’re adults, older than us, and you were being far too critical of her over something that wasn’t in her control. You even said so in your text to me. The students at Blackwell were doing the same thing, only worse. Everyone that did that to her had a hand in pushing her up to that roof.”

I felt a hand brush against my thigh. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Chloe’s blue fingernails slide under my dress and dig into my skin just above my knee. I almost died. Was she getting _off_ on this?

Mr. Marsh’s countenance became somber. “The reaction of her family members – of our family – was wrong, very wrong, and we are sorry for that. We have apologized to Kate individually and have repented, asking for forgiveness.”

“I hope so,” I said without sympathy. “That really messed her up. My mother would never do something like that to me.”

“Your parents love you, Max, just as we love Kate. I hope you understand this. You, in the blossoming years of adulthood, have taught adults much older than you what it means to love. We are sinners, and we made a grievous mistake. I’m sorry, Max, and I hope that you will find it in your heart someday to forgive us.”

“I forgive you, Mr. Marsh, because I know it’s what Kate would do. Your wife could learn from her.” I sipped at my coffee and looked off into the distance.

“I have been learning from her every day since you brought her back to us, Max.” The smile returned to his face. He turned to Chloe. She didn’t immediately scowl at him which was a good sign. “I’m afraid I haven’t been properly introduced to your friend – ”

“Girlfriend. Chloe Price,” said Chloe.

I felt like jumping out of my skin when she said that. I realized that she was probably just messing with him, but, still…

“Ah. Ms. Price, my pleasure.” He didn’t offer his hand, probably knowing that she wouldn’t shake it after what had happened. She took advantage of his invitation to conversation.

“So, Mr. Marsh, you’re a pastor at a megachurch, making you a…megapastor? Does that mean you’re like a level 30 pastor or something?”

Mr. Marsh chuckled good-naturedly and wholeheartedly. It sounded like he actually thought that was pretty funny. “Well, according to my belt I’m a level 32, but no, I’m just a humble pastor here. It’s the one we serve who is reflected in the larger-than-life dimensions you see around you. I’m sure you’ve noticed that our church is a _tad_ bit bigger than your average church.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Megamarsh. We had no trouble finding it from the highway. Must be nice to be able to play baseball and hold services in the same building.” Chloe picked up her latte and took long gulps of java milk. I figured mine must have cooled off by now, so I took a sip. It was pretty good.

Mr. Marsh chuckled courteously. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been trying to get the head pastor to put in a playing field somewhere near the tennis courts. What’s a stadium without a playing field, I’ve been telling him. Most of our real estate is tied up in services related to our ministry, such as our – “

“Cotton candy and caramel corn. Yes, I totally see how that’s related to sermons and baptisms.” Chloe was keeping her promise to go easy on Mr. Marsh in her own way.

Mr. Marsh acknowledged her ire by sighing in bemused resignation. “We like to make people feel at home when they come here, hence the concessions stand and other offerings you wouldn’t expect to find at a church that isn’t as _comprehensive_ as ours. We offer a holistic approach, one that addresses all aspects of our relationship with God, and this is exactly what we are doing for Kate here at the church. I understand that you are upset about this, Chloe, but I would hope that we can resolve whatever differences we may have peacefully and still be on amicable terms when you leave here today.”

“So…you’re kicking us out?” Chloe replied, her eyes narrowing.

“No, no, no, nothing of the sort. Chloe, you and Max are welcome to stay here for as long as you like. In fact, we’d be delighted if you’d attend evening services. It’s just that…Kate is still very vulnerable emotionally and we’re afraid that contact with anything or anyone related to Arcadia Bay, even with friends, may damage her fragile mental state and lead to a relapse. This is why we wanted to give her a chance to center herself – in her devotionals – before she talks to you.”

“A relapse?” I said. “What the hell does that mean?” I was seriously pissed. Chloe took my left hand into her lap and laced her fingers through mine. Mr. Marsh’s face softened, as did my mood.

“Max, I…her mother and I…all of us, have seen the error of our ways. We have asked for forgiveness and it has been given. We are doing everything in our power to right what went wrong without judging, for that is the domain of someone else entirely, and their domain alone. Kate has forgiven us, and we have forgiven her. In forgiveness, there is life, and in life, there is growth. We’re nurturing Kate, now, and helping her to grow into the beautiful, compassionate, faithful young woman we know that she’ll become.”

“So your wife is dragging her off to meetings?” Chloe snapped.

Mr. Marsh smiled broadly. He had the patience of a saint. “A form of therapy. Where the hospital left off, we’ve stepped in. We have professional staff assisting her during this transition period – from recovery to reintegration – and I can assure you that our intentions and methodologies are entirely benevolent.”

At that moment my phone buzzed against my right hip with the vibration pattern I had set for critical messages. “Excuse me, this might be important,” I said. Mr. Marsh nodded. “Of course.”

Chloe let go of my hand and I reached into my tote bag. It was a new message from Kate. Several new messages, actually.

Max, I know you want to help me but I  
really need to be alone with my family right now.  
Thank you so much for coming to my church

to see me. I promise you that I will visit you  
some time when this is all done and  
I am ready to face the world again.

Until then, please stay in good  
spirits and give your friend a hug  
for me.

Love, Kate xoxoxoxoxoxo

“Damn,” I must have said out loud, because Chloe replied, “What’s up?”

Right about then Mr. Marsh reached into his vest pocket for his phone and looked it over dispassionately as it hummed in his hand. “Excuse me, ladies.” He poked the screen with his thumb and placed it against his left ear, which he turned away from us politely. “Hello?”

“Kate just told us very politely to get lost,” I said to Chloe in a hushed tone. Her fingers went limp between mine.

“Do you think we came all the way here for nothing?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. It’s starting to feel like it.”

“We’re at least going to hit up Portland, then.”

“Agreed.”

Mr. Marsh stood up abruptly as he put his phone back into his vest pocket. “I’m sorry, but the nurse has called me into her office. Mr. Luna will need minor stitches and he has asked to speak with me. I’ll go and smooth things over with him so you don’t have to worry about a thing. If I don’t get back to you before you’ve finished here, I look forward to seeing you at this evening’s services.”

And with that he marched off, double-time, before we could reply. Our eyes followed him as he disappeared through the food court’s main entrance.

“What the fuck was that?” I asked Chloe as soon as he was out of sight.

“They just tag-teamed the shit out of us, Max. Trust me, I’m an expert on these things.”

“I trust you, Chloe, just…let’s not get into any more confrontations. I don’t want to hurt Kate.”

“Right, we’ll leave that to ultra-bitch.”

“I know, Chloe. I know. She is _not_ a nice person, but Kate would want us to respond with compassion. It’s what she’s doing. I think that’s what we should do, too.”

The angry lines in Chloe’s face disappeared. Her eyes looked into mine as if they were searching for something.

“You’re not pissed at me for dragging you back to Oregon, are you?” she asked.

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Chloe.”

I totally did not expect her to draw me close to her and brush her lips against my cheek.

“Daddy, those two girls are kissing!” came a child’s shriek. We ignored the stroller-pushing, baby-backpack-toting family that had slowed in their tracks to stare at us along with their five year-old screaming treasure whose megaphone voice blared loud enough for half the food court to hear.

“Color us out of here,” Chloe said, leaving her latte on the table. I grabbed it for her and tossed both of our cups in the trash.

* * *

We almost got lost trying to find the exit, the place was so damn huge. Thankfully there didn’t seem to be any earth-toned suits shadowing us as we headed out through the double doors into the cloud-filtered rays of the midday sun. Our friends standing guard didn’t say anything as we left, which was fine with me since I probably would have ignored them anyways.

When we got to Chloe’s truck (which apparently used to be beige once upon a time), we climbed into the cab and pulled the doors shut behind us weakly. We had come so far only to fail. I wondered when we’d get to see Kate for reals and actually hang out…if ever…

“So, Max, no big deal, and I totally still love you, but…I’ve kinda been wondering what you were doing with my business in your business this morning.”

I didn’t know how to respond. Waking up with a nipple between my teeth wasn’t something I had expected, either. “I must have been having a dream, Chloe. I’m sorry. I don’t remember what it was about. I don’t remember anything. I don’t…”

She put her hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Max. I’m sorry I asked. I just couldn’t help but think of Rachel again.”

“Even after…”

“I really thought we were going places. I totally did not expect her to be shacking up with Frank.”

She took her hand off my shoulder. (I notice these things intensely now.)

“I remember our sleepovers, Max. That’s what hurts. I remember what she wanted to make of herself. She was too good for Arcadia Bay. Rachel is what happens when you ‘hurl the little streets upon the great.’”

My eyes lit up and I smiled. “William Butler Yeats. You’ve read him?”

“Rachel did. She’d read poetry to me sometimes while I braided her hair. Then, one day, she put her book down and told me about her secret, about the real reason she asked me to find out where her parents were sleeping every night when I went to her house.”

“Um…because you didn’t want them to walk in on…”

“No, it wasn’t that. We fooled around a bit, the way Dreaming Max did this morning, but nothing serious. I don’t think she felt that way about me. We were more like kindred spirits. We both wanted to get the fuck out of Arcadia Bay for our own reasons.”

I thought about it for a bit, then came up with a way to ask about Rachel’s secret without asking about it. “Her parents didn’t sleep in the same room every night?”

“Rachel’s…” Chloe exhaled heavily, looking down at the backs of hands that rested on blue-shrouded legs. “Rachel’s father was a raging alcoholic. He would beat the shit out of Rachel’s mother. If they were sleeping together in the same room, it meant he was sober and everything was cool. If they were both home but sleeping separately, it was because he was so wasted that he had passed out before he found his bed and wouldn’t be waking up until morning. Her mom couldn’t stand the smell, especially when he pissed himself. If her mother was sleeping in the closet or gone altogether, it meant…”

“Jesus, Chloe. I had no idea. Is that why was she shacking up with Frank? To get away from that?”

“Not really. She liked to party and she would sometimes hook up with guys to score party favors, but she never got involved in anything serious…until Frank. I think she was trying to ‘fix’ Frank to compensate for her father.”

“What does that mean?”

“Max...” She smiled at me. “It means she found someone else who was messed up and tried to get them un-messed up so she could feel better about not being able to change her shitty alcoholic deadbeat father. And, unlike me, she blamed herself for what happened to him.”

“I’m so sorry, Chloe.”

She took her bell hat off her head and dropped it into her lap. Her back slumped against the seat’s cut up padding. “He drank himself to death after she disappeared,” she murmured as she closed her eyes. “She was taken away from me, but at least she can be together with her father again. In a better place.” I expected to see tears, but none came.

“We’re still together, Chloe.”

“We are, Max.”

Silence.

“I love you, Chloe.”

“I love you, too, Max.”

Silence.

“I love you the way you loved Rachel.”

Chloe’s eyes opened and she sat up straight, slowly. She ran her right hand through her fading blue hair and held it against the back of her neck as she stared pensively at the padded seat to the right of her pale, white legs covered in that beautiful sequined dress. Then she lifted her chin, moved her hand from the back of her neck to the back of mine, drew my face to hers, and pressed our lips together.

I forgot everything I had ever known or learned. The world exploded in fireworks that went off without end. My body ached with the sound of a million symphonies played at once. Machine elves dribbled basketballs made of politics and clouds. Time and space ceased to exist. I died and was reborn.

Chloe and I were jolted out of our union by a fierce knocking sound behind us. We looked, as one, through the rear cab window to see Kate in the bed of the truck, wild-eyed and hair completely undone, staring at us as if she had just wandered into civilization after a lifetime spent in the wild. She hastily slid open the tripartite window and whispered politely but heatedly, “Would you stop making out and drive before somebody sees me here, _please_?”

I had to remind Chloe not to gun the engine on the way out of the parking lot.


	7. Childhood's Hour

Even when she’s crawling through a window barely big enough to fit through, Kate still has the presence of mind to hold her skirt together between her legs. Max reminds you not to push the gas pedal as far down as it will go – it looks like she’s having a difficult enough time already trying to figure out where to latch onto Kate before she tumbles headfirst onto the seat cushions. Max settles for hugging her midsection; a blanket of hair cloaks the shoulders of Kate’s cardigan as she spills awkwardly into the cab on top of Max.

“Are you all right, Kate?” asks Max.

Kate’s holding her palm against her head where it struck your rear view mirror. You’re adjusting it when you notice a black car racing up behind you in the distance. Patterned red and white lights flash obnoxiously in its windshield. You glance at the road in front of you to make sure there’s no danger, then narrow your eyes as you size up Knight Rider’s occupants: two white faces hiding behind sunglasses.

“I think so,” says Kate.

“I don’t think so,” you say at the same time.

Kate and Max turn to you like their heads are attached to the same body. “What?”

“Those aren’t cops.” Out of the corner of your eye you see your two friends shifting in place so they can look through the now-closed window behind them. “Don’t turn around! I need both of you to get on the floor and stay there. Slide down slowly.”

“Okay,” says Max, then clears her throat as her pretty white dress bunches up behind her on the way to the cigarette-stained carpet. “Come on, Kate. She knows what she’s doing.”

“If you say so, Max,” Kate replies. She clutches her skirt again and slinks herself off the edge of the seat.

Frigid silence cools the space between you. You angle your eyes to the right so hard it hurts: Max is even paler than usual while Kate’s face is positively ashen.

“Sorry for yelling. I’ll explain later.”

Kate shakes like she’s cold. “Max, I’m scared.” You turn on the heat.

“We’ll protect you, won’t we, Chloe?” says Max from the floor.

“Damn right we will.” Your tone is harsher than you’d like it to be. “That’s why we’re here, Kate. To protect you.”

The Crown Victoria is riding your ass as hard as anyone ever has but it’s not making you nervous – you’re more used to this shit than you’d care to admit to Max. It’s the way she and Kate are curled up in the fetal position that puts you on edge.

Kate is whimpering. “It’s okay, Kate,” Max whispers. She strokes Kate’s cheek with her thumb.

One last glance in front of you and one in your side mirror are enough. You cut over into the left lane and lead-foot the brake pedal, bringing your truck even with the unmarked car’s driver side window. It’s tinted so you can’t see inside, which is a shame because you don’t get to see their reactions when you flip them the fuck off. As soon as they start to slow down, you swerve in front of them so hard that you damn near take off their bumper. You watch them in the rear view as they fall back a couple of car lengths.

“Those are definitely not cops, Max, but you guys need to stay on the floor for now.”

“Are you sure, Chloe? I mean, I totally trust you, but if they really _are_ cops, we could get in hella trouble!”

You’re not much for cheeky grins, but here you are, flashing your teeth. “First of all, I am so proud of you for adding ‘hella’ to your vocabulary. Second, a lot of rent-a-cops do their best to make themselves look like cops as much as possible without crossing the line. But a Crown Vic with tinted side windows, lights that aren’t blue, red, and amber, and a pair of suits with no driving skills just _screams_ amateur hour.”

Max doesn’t have a response for that. The cab’s heater hums unaccompanied until she finds her voice again.

“Kate, I am so glad to see you,” she says. It strikes you as a strange way to initiate a conversation with someone lying opposite you on the floor of a moving vehicle. (Max doesn’t know it, but the way she talks is one of those little things you’ll always keep inside your heart.)

“It’s good to see you, too, Max.”

“Yeah,” you add, “it’s really good to see you again, Kate. I’m sorry the circumstances haven’t really improved, but I promise we’ll make it up to you.”

“I hope so. You weren’t very nice to Mr. Luna.”

She’s right. You weren’t. It’s time to start taking responsibility for these things. “I’m sorry, Kate. I thought he was going to hurt Max.”

“And he thought you were being paid by Sean Prescott.”

Your body convulses the same way your skater friend Justin’s did when he went to drain the main vein on a fence in the woods one day, only to find out that it was electrified. The shock sends your velvet slipper off the accelerator as you process what sweet little Kate Marsh just said.

“What the fuck?” is your response.

“What?” says Max. She almost hits her head on the bottom of the glove compartment’s housing as she sits up.

“Max!” you hiss. “Lie down. You don’t exist until these assholes are gone.” Max returns to the floor as your foot resumes its position on the gas pedal. “Kate, please tell me that you did _not_ just tell me that Sean Prescott is going to be on our asses.” You take another look in the rear view mirror and throw your head back against the seat cushion. “Shit.”

“Chloe, do you think they’ll stop following us eventually?” Max interjects. That’s twice now that she’s pleasantly surprised you with her words. She’s getting better at using them.

“Only one way to find out. I bet I can lose them in Portland.”

“ _No!_ ” says Kate with sudden panic in her voice. “We can’t go there. It’s not safe.”

“What do you mean, Kate?” Max is stroking her cheek again. There’s a tinge of jealousy somewhere deep within you, but it’s no match for the adrenaline powering your legs, arms, and middle finger.

“There are people there that want to hurt us. They threatened to burn down our church.”

“The mega-church?”

“No. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Just take me with you – anywhere but Portland.” Kate sounds like she’s becoming more upset by the moment.

“Sure, Kate,” says Max soothingly. “We can take the scenic route, right, Chloe?”

“You got it. Back to Seattle we go,” you say as cheerfully as you’re able. Your ass is going to be sore and you are not looking forward to being shadowed for miles on end, but anything for Max.

“Thank you,” says Kate. She keeps rubbing her right wrist with her hand until Max wraps her fingers around Kate’s knuckles. It’s probably better for you to concentrate on the pavement in front of you.

Once you’re off Patton Valley Road, you follow the signs north. Thing One and Thing Two fall back and turn their lights off when you hit the spot where 47 meets up with 26 – you figure they probably expected you to head east toward Portland instead of west. Then, you’re northbound again; not long after that, you’re saying hello to Columbia County and goodbye to Washington County as well as the goons, because this is apparently where their budget runs out. You feel your shoulders sag and you breathe a deep sigh of relief as you watch them do a U-turn in the middle of traffic.

“They’re gone, Max.”

Kate and Max clamber up onto the seat wordlessly. Max puts her arm around Kate who responds by putting her head on Max’s shoulder. They stay that way until you near the off-ramp to the Lewis and Clark Bridge that takes you into Washington. This is familiar territory for you and Max, but what is not familiar is a checkpoint with uniformed police officers and marked cruisers. You see them questioning vehicles’ occupants one by one in a slow procession of Sunday drivers. Almost as soon as your mind starts buzzing with theories and possibilities, you’ve figured it out – and it pisses you off that you still have to think like this. The lengthy string of cars in front of you should give you enough time to prepare.

“Just stay calm and let me do all the talking.” You put your hand on Kate’s back gently so as not to startle her. “Kate,” you say softly. She lifts her head and turns toward you with an uncertain look in her eyes. “Use your hairpin to hold your cardigan together, tuck your necklace inside your shirt, and put our shopping bags in your lap. Max, there are two pairs of sunglasses in the glove compartment. Kate and I are going to put them on.”

Everything happens fluidly, as if the three of you had grown up together spending your days preparing for moments like this. You and Kate look like movie stars in your designer shades; Max is still as cute as ever. (Her tote bag totally does not match that white dress, but you’re not going to say anything about it.) When you pull up to the checkpoint a few minutes later, you’ve got your story worked out. You roll your window all the way down and are met by a clean-cut, smartly outfitted police officer who bears an uncomfortable resemblance to your late stepfather.

“Good afternoon,” he says. “Where are you coming from?”

“Bay City,” you say. “We were doing a tour of the campus there.”

“Bay City. That’s close to Arcadia Bay, isn’t it? How were the roads?”

“Still closed down, so we took an alternate route.”

The officer nods. “Where are you headed?”

“Back to our apartment in Olympia.”

“We’re looking for an endangered runaway: Caucasian female, brown hair, white shirt, black cardigan, gold cross necklace, black skirt, white shoes. Have you seen anyone who matches that description?”

“Nope,” you say as you shake your head. You track the movement of his eyes from behind your sunglasses; his gaze lingers on Max but not Kate.

“Say, how old are you girls?” he asks.

“Nineteen,” you reply.

“Eighteen,” Max and Kate say at the same time.

The officer looks around the interior of your cab. “We borrowed my brother’s truck,” you offer.

He smiles and seems to accept your explanation. “Thank you for your time, ladies. Enjoy your day.” And with that he waves you on.

You creep past the cramped bunches of squad cars and barricades watching over the interchange. Once you hit the bridge, you accelerate to full speed and don’t slow down until the river is behind you.

Kate exhales audibly. You look over at her – it seems the weight of the world has been taken off her shoulders. She relaxes by doing her hair up in a bun where most other girls you know would let it down. Max starts fussing over her; she helps Kate with her hairpin even though Kate doesn’t need help.

“I’m going to buy you some barrettes when we get into Longview,” Max says.

“All right,” says Kate. “Can we stop and get some tea? Tea always helps me relax.”

“Good idea,” you say. “Think they have a dispensary, Max? I’m pretty sure I need to relax, too.”

“Probably, but you have to be 21.”

“Nicotine it is,” you sigh.

Your laser beam eyes are looking for a place that serves tea, preferably one that hipster Max has never heard of. There it is: a café called _ZoJo Coffee_ just off the main road. You’re itching to get the hell out of your truck after that ordeal, so you crank around the block like your ass is on fire and come to a Formula One pit stop in the nearest parking spot. The three of you pile out of the cab and approach the front door: they close at four on Sundays, twenty minutes from now. You and Max and Kate head inside and make a beeline for the counter with such serious looks on your faces that it prompts a light-hearted laugh from the woman taking inventory behind the cash register.

You scan the menu for something that has an appetizing name and isn’t coffee-flavored. When the smell of baked, iced, glazed, chocolatey goods hits you from behind the display case, you realize that you and Max haven’t eaten lunch, so you order enough brownies and scones for two Maxes and four Chloes. You’ll share them with Kate.

Kate takes her tea and sits down at the table nearest the window, facing the parking lot. You and your plates find a home on her left facing the café’s interior so you can stare at something other than pavement. Max seats herself across from you and blows on her tea. Kate is already sipping away contentedly.

“How is it?” asks Max.

“It’s really good,” says Kate with a smile, the first time you’ve seen her do that since she joined you. “They know their tea here. Chamomile is my favorite.”

“I like spearmint myself,” says Max. “Sometimes it’s hard to find, so I have to settle for peppermint.”

You’re too busy power-eating your way through a kick-ass brownie to talk.

“Do you need to text your parents and tell them where you are?” says Max.

“Max,” you choke. You manage to keep bits of chocolate from crumbling out of your mouth by swallowing hard. “That’s not how running away works.”

“I’m not really running away,” says Kate. “I just felt like I would be safer with you, for now. My parents took my phone away from me, anyways.” You frown at no one in particular as you wipe frosting off your fingers with a napkin.

“It seems like your dad really looks out for you,” Max says with a sidelong glance at you. She’s making nice saves today in her uniquely Max-like way; the reference isn’t lost on you.

“He does,” Kate says as she stares into her tea. You’ve finished your brownie and are halfway through a blueberry scone. Max takes a raspberry triangle and nibbles at it; when she realizes she’s hungry, she starts taking full-sized bites. Both of you stop when you see tears sliding down Kate’s cheeks.

Max takes a pair of napkins and hands them to Kate, but she doesn’t accept them. So, Max folds one of them around her index finger and dabs at the wetness underneath her eyes. You feel a strange sense of déjà vu.

Kate turns to you and meets your eyes with an intensity that completely fucks you up. “My mother is always angry. I want to get away from that.”

You put your scone down. “So do I. You’re lucky to have parents who care about you.”

“I am.” Kate wears a stony countenance that chafes at you like the sand swept contours of an Egyptian pharaoh’s statue. Then, her face goes slack and her lips part. “I…I’m sorry Chloe. Your…”

You feel your head nodding as if in a dream.

“I’m so sorry,” says Kate.

You shove the half-eaten scone into your mouth so you don’t have to talk.

“Is everything all right with you at your church?” asks Max. She fills the void with the elephant in the room. _Thank you, Max, for being awkward._

Kate puts her cup down on the table and folds her hands in her lap. “That’s not our church. We went to them for protection.”

For once in her life, Nosy Max refrains from prying further. “My parents are looking out for me the best they know how,” Kate continues. “My mother is mostly doing it out of guilt, but she’s trying. She’s really upset about the anonymous threats, though. They said they would make our church pay for what we did. But we haven’t done anything!”

Kate lifts her palms to her cheeks and weeps silently into her fingers. Max moves her chair closer and puts her arm around Kate’s shoulders. You follow up the last bite of your scone with angry gulps of cider.

“They’re trying to scare you into silence,” you say.

“What?” says Kate in between sniffles. Max sends a chastising frown in your direction.

“Don’t worry about anything, Kate. Max and I will take care of everything. We’ve dealt with this before. We’ll do it again.”

“You have? Are you sure, Chloe?” Kate has stopped crying. She’s wiping her own eyes now.

“It’s better that you don’t know about the details. All you need to know is that they’re going down, hard. Max and I will make sure they don’t take you down with them. Stick with us until this blows over.”

Kate blows her nose into a napkin and crumples it up into her hand. “All right.”

“It’s just about closing time, ladies,” the barista calls from behind the counter. “We’d love to have you longer, but we have to pack things up now. Would you like to take some leftover scones with you?”

“Yes, please,” you say. “Could we get some lids for our cups?”

“Sure thing.” You fetch a handful of plastic white lids and a paper bag with several scones inside. When you return, Max and Kate are on their way out the door with cups in hand.

“That was very polite of you,” says Kate, the hint of a smile returning to her cheeks. “You even did it without punching her in the face.”

Max laughs her ass off as you lean over and give Kate a quick peck on the cheek.

* * *

You’re back on the highway with a full tank of gas and a pack of cigarettes in your upside-down bell hat on the seat next you, musing about how you locked lips with Max before Kate crashed your party. You feel a bit guilty about pretending she was Rachel when you did it – you don’t want to break Max’s heart and tell her that you’re not really over your blonde-haired girlfriend. You’re wondering what Max’s first kiss felt like to her when you notice you’ve spilled a bit of cider on the seat underneath you; the sturdy cardboard cup holding it rests in the cup holder near your knee.

“Hey, Kate, can you grab me another lid for my cider? Mine seems to have disappeared.”

“Sure.” Kate reaches over and puts a new lid on your cup, then turns back to Max. “Alice is doing fine. She just needs to eat more and get more exercise.”

“That’s good to hear,” says Max. “I wouldn’t mind hanging out with her more often. She’s really cute.”

“And she really likes you. I can tell,” says Kate.

“Who’s Alice?” you blurt out.

“My bunny,” says Kate.

“Oh.”

* * *

When you finally get back to Seattle, Kate is looking relaxed and happy. You pull into Max’s driveway, gently this time so as not to unnerve Kate, and flip the truck into park with a deft, practiced motion. The cab empties against a backdrop of sunset-hued clouds.

“My nerves are getting to me. I’m going to smoke a couple cigarettes out here.”

“Okay, Chloe. Come on, Kate. I’ll introduce you to my parents.”

You arch one eyebrow at Max who returns your playful gesture with an overly dramatic frown. You watch as Kate trails her through the front door, then walk to the rear of your truck and lean against the back end in your scintillating sequined dress. You manage to do your best impression of James Dean with your flimsy blue plastic lighter and a brand of rolled tobacco that’s cheaper than it tastes. You take long, slow drags, letting the scent and smoke linger before venting heady clouds of soothing mist through your nose.

You smoke until your lips are almost burning. You smash the glowing filter against the rust above your left rear taillight and flick it into the bed where it joins a carton’s worth of completed therapy sessions. You don’t feel like a second cigarette right now; instead, you open the driver’s side door and pull your white skull shirt from the department store bag on the floor. You’re able to soak up most of the moisture from the seat. You shove it back inside the plastic tote and make your way up the sidewalk to the front door which has been left unlocked for you.

You’re about to slide your velvet slippers off onto the foyer’s hardwood floor when some of the more irritating fragments of your café conversation get you to thinking about the invitation Max’s dad extended last night. You wouldn’t mind a tall one right about now. The light switch for the garage is right next to the door, and so is the refrigerator. You slam the first bottle you find without even looking to see what it is. It’s not enough, so you reach for another. Your throat aches with a painful, icy coldness that intensifies as you drink; you’re reminded of the chilling depths of the water in Max’s dreams – and then it occurs to you as your skull starts humming with a familiar buzz that you might not be able to help Max tonight if you get drunk. Two should be enough.

You set the pair of bottles down into a green recycling bin next to several of their cousins; only then do you bother to check out their worn labels: “The Pike – Seattle’s Famous Space Needle Golden IPA.” You’ll have to remember that – it’s pretty good stuff. You decide to round out your brief foray into the garage by releasing a god-almighty belch that would make your greasy-burger-and-barbeque-rib-aficionado uncle Aaron proud.

As much as you’re accustomed to not caring about what anyone thinks, you’re genuinely embarrassed when you open the door to the foyer and find Vanessa standing right in front of you.

“Hi, Chloe,” she says as she waves her hand in front of her nose. “How was your adventure this afternoon?”

“Oh, it was just fine,” you say and nearly stumble over the door frame.

Vanessa catches you in a bear hug. “I see you took up Ryan’s invitation from yesterday evening.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about…”

“I understand, honey. If you need to talk again, let me know. Just try not to break anything.”

“I feel kind of tired. I think I’m going to go upstairs and lie down.” Your shopping bag falls to the floor limply.

“Do these need to go into the laundry?” Vanessa asks, picking up the bundle of wrinkled plastic with one hand.

“Yes, please. Thanks, mom.” You forget to put the word “Max’s” in front of “mom” but Vanessa doesn’t seem to mind.

Soft footsteps from the basement staircase announce Max’s dad. He takes a deep breath in through his nose as he steps out into the foyer hallway. “Wow! Smells like Pale Ale,” he rumbles.

“Chloe had some of your beer, dear.”

“Back from your outing, I see! I knew you couldn’t resist at least one or two. Which one did you have?”

“Two Space Needle IPAs,” you reply.

Ryan beams an enormous grin at Vanessa who tilts her head down and to one side. “Ryan. What did you put in there?”

“I reused those bottles for my personal take on Pike IPA which normally runs 6.3%, but my batch turned out to be two percent stronger than that. You might want to take a load off, Chloe.”

“Okay,” you say as you grip the staircase railing. Vanessa is right on your hip, smothering you in a full-on side embrace as she guides you up the stairs. You don’t really need her help but – oh, wait. Yes, you do.

The next thing you’re aware of is Vanessa cradling you as your back meets a mattress in what must be Max’s room. Your shoes yank themselves off your feet. You feel a light blanket descend from the ceiling, then another. On your right, a red plastic baby-bathing bowl with a thick handle floats down onto the bed. Then, the world goes blank and you’re drifting away on the night sea, the stars overhead glowing softly just for you.

* * *

You open your eyes to a window and walls that are spinning at an altogether reasonable rate. (You’ve been through worse.) Your throat is dry and your pulse throbs faintly through your temples. You feel something in your hair; when you reach up to investigate, you discover Max’s fingers.

“Did I puke?” you croak.

“Yeah,” says Max. “Do you need some aspirin?”

“Yes, please. And some water, please, my dearest darling Max. Thank you.” You turn your head to the right. The red bowl has been replaced by a series of slowly revolving dressers set against the wall. You don’t see a clock anywhere but you’re afraid to lift your head and look for one.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Seven thirty,” says Max as she walks through the doorway and down the hall. You exhale through your nose and cough weakly. “Is she all right?” comes Kate’s voice from the hallway. “Yeah, she’s fine.”

Max returns with two tablets and a tall glass of ice water. You force yourself to sit up with a pair of blankets shrouding your shoulders and chase the aspirin with as much of the liquid as you can manage before returning your head to its pillow cocoon.

“You look like the third doctor,” says Max. Your mind is too fuzzy to try to figure out what she’s talking about.

“And you look like a huge nerd,” you reply. It cracks her up.

“Mom made spaghetti for dinner,” she says. “Can you eat?”

“Not now.” Your insides feel like hell and, based on past experience, will continue to feel like hell until you’ve emptied them completely. “Maybe later. I’ll just hang out near the bathroom and work on finishing this water.”

“All right. Text us if you need anything.” Max heads out the door and closes it softly behind her. She resumes her conversation with Kate; the sound of their voices fades. _Text us even though we’re downstairs._ You laugh to yourself, then realize that it probably _would_ be better for you to stay in bed until your body starts being more cooperative.

> hey max can I borrow your toothbrush? need to scrub the grossness out of my mouth
> 
> Yuck. Mom bought you your own when she went shopping today. It’s the skinny purple one.
> 
> dude, do you come from a family of mind readers?
> 
> Absolutely. ^^ NO EMOJI
> 
> -__-
> 
> Did you just emoji? I think I’m a bad good influence on you.

Lying in bed is pretty boring when you’re not smoking out or listening to music, so you decide to check the Tillamook County news headlines on your phone.

MAIN SUSPECT IN STRING OF SERIAL KIDNAPPINGS AND DOUBLE HOMICIDE CONFIRMED DEAD

ARCADIA BAY DAY TWO: DISASTER AREA DECLARED, NO SURVIVORS FOUND

BLACKWELL MAGNATE SEAN PRESCOTT MISSING, INVESTIGATION WILL PROCEED SAYS DISTRICT ATTORNEY

You throw your phone screen-down onto the mattress and slap your palm against your forehead. You should not have fucking done that. You decide to brush your teeth to try to scrub away some of the filth that’s lingering in your head and end up praying to the porcelain gods instead. Well, at least that’s done with.

You return to Max’s bed, where you stare at the ceiling and try to unremember the things that Ryan’s Space Needles were supposed to help you forget. Clouds of foggy memories roll through your mind; eventually, they run out of steam and the room stops spinning. You’re starting to feel hungry when Max and Kate walk into the room.

“Is it all right if I sleep in your room, Max?” asks Kate. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. I’ve had to be paranoid these last couple of days and I’d feel better knowing there’s someone in the same room with me.”

“Sure, Kate. You can sleep in my bed. If Chloe doesn’t mind.”

“It’s your bed, Max,” you say. “Anyways, I’m going down to the kitchen to get something to eat. Do you think your parents will mind?”

“Mind?” says Max. “Check the fridge. Knowing mom she probably left something for you.”

“Awesome.” Your head feels like it’s hoisting the rest of your weary body off the mattress. You and your shock of blue hair head downstairs still wearing your jacket dress in a fitting homage to Edgar Allan Poe’s dark romanticism. Rachel loved reading him to you.

_Try not to fall in love while I’m away._

The kitchen is empty but the lights are still on. Just like Max said, Vanessa’s left a plate of plastic-wrapped spaghetti for you in the refrigerator next to a plate of similarly wrapped grated parmesan cheese. A folded index card with the word “CHLOE” written in felt tip marker straddles the pair of dishes. It takes you ten minutes to heat, prepare, and eat it, which is the same thing as forever when it comes to your dining habits. You finish it off with a small glass of orange juice – you’re done with heavy drinking for the day – and wash your plate along with everything else Max’s dad has left in the sink (because there’s no way super-spotless Vanessa would have left this mess in here).

When you get back upstairs, you head into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wonder who the hell is reading your mind because there’s a change of clothes on the sink.

“Mom left those for you,” calls Max from her room.

“Thanks,” you call back. You’re in a house full of psychics.

You spend three minutes scrubbing your teeth – two minutes and fifty seconds longer than it normally takes you. Your power shower, on the other hand, takes you a little over a minute. You change into a long-sleeved t-shirt, sweatpants, and socks, then head into Max’s room where Max and Kate are sitting on her bed in their pajamas, talking. You place your folded-up jacket dress on top of Max’s dresser and lie down next to them near the edge of the bed. You try in vain to find the spot on the ceiling you were staring at earlier.

Max glances at you. “I hope you don’t mind that we’re all sharing the same bed,” she says to Kate.

Kate looks like she’s just seen a ghost. “Maybe I should sleep somewhere else? I mean, I don’t want to get in your way.”

“Uh…” says Max. “That’s not what I meant. I’ve…been having nightmares. Chloe watches over me while I sleep and wakes me up if I start to panic.”

“Oh…” says Kate. Her face comes back to life. “That must be awful, Max. I pray for Arcadia Bay every night. I’ll be sure to pray for you, too.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“You left your phone on my bed, Miss Blue,” says Max as she hands it to you. You take it from her without comment and thumb-smash close the News app that’s still open.

“We should go out on the town tomorrow, Kate,” Max continues, still looking at you. “We can – oh.” You look over at Kate; she’s already passed out on the pillows behind her with her mouth half-open.

“That was fast,” you say.

Max crooks her index finger under Kate’s chin and gently pushes her teeth together. They drift apart. You chuckle. Max smooths part of her huge down blanket over Kate’s small body. She looks like a child tucked in for bed.

“She’s too innocent, Chloe. I don’t want to see her suffer.”

“I don’t want to see either of you suffer.”

“It just pisses me off that her family is getting tangled up in this bullshit.” Max’s face is turning red.

“Relax, Max. Like I said yesterday, we need to take some time off from life. So does Kate. Sean Prescott can buy Arcadia Bay, but he can’t buy all of Oregon and he’s nothing here in Washington. If we need to go to the police to take his shitty little empire down faster, we’ll do it, but let’s not worry about that for now.”

Max’s hunched up shoulders stay that way. “You’re right. I have these goddamn nightmares to worry about.”

“Not while I’m here.” You get up and flip off the light switch as you close the bedroom door. When you lie back down, you find Max’s wrist in the dark and pull her toward you. You feel her down blanket fall on top of you. She rests her forehead against your chest and you take her in your arms.

“Chloe, I’m sorry about earlier today, in the truck,” she half-whispers.

“Max, it’s me, Chloe. Your best friend in the world. You don’t have to apologize. And I was the one who kissed you, remember?”

Max sniffles. You put your thumb next to her nose but there aren’t any tears.

“I’m not Rachel.”

“You’re hung up on Rachel, Max. I had a crush on her. She didn’t feel the same way. That’s it. And we’ll never know how the story of Chloe and Rachel would have turned out. It’s the story of Chloe and Max now.”

Kate makes a noise in her sleep. The two of you lift up your heads to see what she’s doing; it looks like she’s breathing peacefully in the soft glow of the waxing moon, so you lie back down.

“Happily ever after?” asks Max.

“Max, I told you I’m never leaving you.”

Your words warm the cool October air like fireflies aglow with ephemeral incandescence. You imagine them turning into balls of light and telegraphing their messages via subtle pulses of energy. When they’re done transmitting, they float up to the heavens and join the myriad stars in the night sky.

“This is nice,” says Max from the other end of the boat. There’s a soft breeze caressing the water’s surface, a wind-blown stillness that floods you with silent equanimity. You’re alone together in an exquisite forest of blackness dotted by angelic lights. You wouldn’t mind staying here forever.

You step softly to the center of the boat and beckon Max with your hands. She scuttles over to you laboriously, pausing to allow the frequent rocking movements to subside. When she reaches you, she sits in your lap with her back to you. You place your arms around her skinny waist, and together you behold the intoxicating light of a thousand distant suns.

“Why don’t you love me the way I love you, Chloe?”

“’We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind.’”

“That’s from the play _Arcadia_ by Tom Stoppard, isn’t it? The one about time and relationships.”

“Yeah. One of the few lines I remember from Rachel’s moonlight readings. She’s not someone you’d ever shed willingly.”

“Do you think you’ll ever be at peace with Rachel?”

“Yes, and so will you. That’s what I meant by that line. Give it time, Max. You’re in my arms right now, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

A sudden gust sends heavy fingers through your hair.

“Do you think time heals all wounds, Max?”

The night sky above opens up into an aurora. You gaze, transfixed.

“’Time is a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment because they'll never come again.’ Captain Jean-Luc Picard.”

“Beautiful,” you say, looking up at the palette of otherworldly colors dancing in the distance.

“I didn’t know you liked Star Trek that much,” says Max.

You hug her a little bit tighter.

* * *

She’s still in your arms when you wake. You slept like a log and don’t remember much of anything after your stargazing session. You hope that’s a good sign. You want to ask Max whether she dreamed about anything after that, but she’s still sleeping soundly, covered from head to toe in her down blanket, her breath rising and falling rhythmically beneath the covers. You inhale the morning’s chilly air – the window above the bed looks like it wasn’t shut all the way.

“Um, Chloe…” says a familiar, raspy voice from behind you. You turn over and see Max in her pajamas holding a glass of water and a toothbrush. You throw off the heavy blanket; the first thing you see is Kate’s unspun hair splayed out across the bed, her head nestled in the crook of your arm. Her body is right next to yours, close enough for you to feel the beating of her heart. She’s sleeping as peacefully as you’ve ever seen anyone sleep.


	8. Mountain at My Gates

The twinkling stars radiated tranquility from where they were nestled amongst the vibrant hues of the aurora that had burst into view. It was as if an artist had suspended water in the night sky and flooded it with luminous, multicolored ink all at once. Vibrant reds, greens, and blues danced across our arms and legs as Chloe and I sat in our tangled embrace, looking up at the heavenly symphony singing its way into our souls. I felt so overcome with emotion that I couldn’t help but turn around in place and press my lips against her mouth with a swell of passion that shortened my breath and electrified my skin.

Chloe’s eyes were already closed when I met her; she opened her mouth into mine and showed me what a kiss really was. The rush of physical contact was so intense that I was beginning to feel light-headed. But it wasn’t enough – I wanted to join our bodies so completely that I didn’t care whether I passed out. I wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other around her back and dug my fingernails into the fabric of her shirt. She, in turn, enveloped me in those long arms of hers and pulled me down on top of her into the hull of the canoe-style boat, angling our bodies between the wooden slats that would have served as seats for less enthusiastic passengers.

When she moved her hands from my back to my ass, I felt a rushing sensation between my legs. She began to press my hips into hers rhythmically, gently at first, then with increasing intensity. I started grinding my pelvis against her in time with her inward movements. I took my hand from behind her back where it was pressed uncomfortably against the boat’s damp, wooden bottom and slid it into a warmer place underneath her shirt. She tensed up at the chill of my fingers, but relaxed as I started to massage her skin. When I brushed against her nipple with one fingertip, she let go of my lips and released a warm breath onto my neck that made me shudder. One of her hands moved from the back of my waist to the front, where it descended. The world exploded into a thousand blinding lights, pulsating endlessly like the aurora above.

I sat up suddenly, taking deep breaths to try to calm myself. Chloe was beside me, snoring softly with parted lips. Kate was on my left beneath one fold of the down blanket, her head turned toward the window which had been left slightly open. It felt a bit chilly in the room, but I was still buzzing with heat and energy from the scene my mind had made for me. The burning in my cheeks decided it – I slipped out of the bedroom as quietly as I could, slinked through the hallway, and disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I turned the ceiling fan on high.

When I was done washing up, I decided that then was as good a time as any to brush my teeth. It occurred to me as I was putting toothpaste on my toothbrush that Chloe had probably had the same dream. If that was true, like it had been on Saturday, I wanted to talk to her about it before Kate was awake. Without even thinking, I grabbed the glass of salt water I was going to use to rinse my mouth and my pink toothbrush and walked back into the bedroom. I was about to put my things down on top of the dresser when I noticed a large bulge underneath the down blanket beside Chloe. Kate was not in her spot by the window.

“Um, Chloe…”

Chloe whipped off the down blanket fast enough that individual strands of hair fluttered up briefly from the cinnamon swirl spilled on the bed behind Kate. I wasn’t upset, just surprised. The sight of them locked in a slumbering embrace reminded me of two sisters sharing a bed more than anything. I knew it must have happened while they were sleeping, but it was a bit weird to see how perfectly they had Tetris-blocked together in the short time I had been out of the room.

Chloe tried to be cool about it and sit up as carefully as she could without waking Kate, but the second she removed her arm from underneath Kate’s head, Kate’s eyes opened wide. She looked first at me and then at Chloe who was sliding off the bed as gracefully as her lanky limbs would let her, but it was too late. When she realized what had happened, she hurtled back against the wall like Warren did in science class one day when he decided to explore the properties of “Electricity and Magnetism” by testing a nine-volt battery terminal against his tongue.

“Max, we need to talk.” She said it with an earnestness that made it sound like the fate of the world was going to depend on our conversation.

“Kate, I’m sure it was an accident. Sometimes things like this happen when you’re sleeping.” I was still holding my toothpaste-laden toothbrush and the glass of water.

“Sometimes you cuddle with other girls in your sleep?” Kate said. “I’m fine with your relationship, even though others in my church wouldn’t be. Do whatever you want, but please leave me out of it.”

Chloe and I stood there in silence. I didn’t know what to say. Even Chloe, who had talked her way past a police checkpoint, had no words for her. At this point I was a bit ashamed to admit that I wasn’t as concerned about Kate’s feelings as much as I was about the prospect of describing my bond with Chloe as a relationship. I forced out the first words that came to mind.

“I’m sorry, Kate. You were both sleeping. I’m sure it wasn’t intentional.”

“Kate,” said Chloe. “I did not do it on purpose, I swear. It must have happened while we were sleeping.”

Kate didn’t even look at Chloe.

“I think I should go back now,” she said. “I don’t want to say that I should have known better, but…maybe I should have known better.”

“Kate,” I said with irritation in my voice. “That is not cool.”

“And sleeping with someone before you’re married is?”

“I…I’m sorry. I thought you meant something else. But I told you why Chloe and I sleep so close to each other. And it worked! I didn’t have any nightmares last night because she was here. Look, we’d really like you to stay here for a while, at least until this bullshit with the Prescotts blows over. I’ll ask Mom to make up the guest room and you can sleep in there with the door open. It’s right next to my parents’ room.”

Kate had taken a pillow and was hugging it against her chest. “That might be better,” she said. Her tone of voice had softened but her face had not. “Max, I need to talk to you. Alone.”

Chloe and I exchanged a glance; she left through the door without a word and closed it behind her. I set my toothbrush and glass down on the dresser, then placed myself gingerly on the edge of the bed with one leg hanging off it.

“I like boys,” Kate whispered.

“So do I,” I replied.

“I don’t understand,” she said, this time without whispering.

“Neither do I.”

“You’re not being very helpful. Can you just tell Chloe to stop flirting with me?”

“Sure, Kate. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know it was making you feel uncomfortable.”

“It wasn’t, until now. I just thought she was being friendly.”

“She was.”

If there was one thing you could always count on when it came to Kate, it was that you never had to guess what she was feeling – it was invariably written on her face. This time, it was uncertainty.

“So, are you two...”

“I don’t know, honestly,” I replied. “I wish I knew what was going on myself.”

“It just makes me think that relationships are too much trouble to bother with. If someone is always thinking about how to get you into bed, how do you know that you can trust them?”

“I wouldn’t think of it that way. You just need to be patient and find the right person.”

“So you mean to say I should _wait_ for the right person to come along?” She seemed to perk up.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“That makes me feel better.” Her posture relaxed and the pillow tumbled from her grip onto the bed. “Thanks, Max. You really _do_ always know the right thing to say.”

“Any time, Kate.” I scooted over to her and put one hand on her shoulder. She smiled, then put her hand atop mine. “I’m going to take a shower now,” she said.

“The bathroom’s all yours.”

She left the bedroom without closing the door behind her. I had picked up my neglected toothbrush and glass and was just about to head downstairs to brush my teeth over the kitchen sink; Chloe must have been waiting somewhere around the corner, because she popped her head inside and hugged the door frame as she entered. She closed the door behind her.

“I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

I shook my head. “I know you didn’t. Even if you had, it wouldn’t matter to me. I would have gotten over it.”

“You would have?” I indulged myself and imagined a hint of disappointment in Chloe’s voice.

“After last night’s dream, I feel…at peace, like I can accept anything.”

“Oh, man, that dream was awesome! I totally feel relaxed now. Were you looking up at the stars? In a boat?” Chloe sounded like she had been waiting all night to wake up so she could ask me about it.

“Yeah, then there was an awesome aurora up in the sky. I’ve never felt happier than I was at that moment, sitting there and meditating on stillness. All of my cares and concerns melted away. And I got to share it with you.”

“Max, you are awesome. So, did you dream about anything after that? Did you…”

I had to think fast. I didn’t know how she would respond to the level of intimacy I had shared with her. For all I knew, it might have been a product of my own selfish desires.

“…have any nightmares? No.” I felt my cheeks flushing. Chloe looked relieved.

“Finally! I think I’ve finally figured it out, Max: how to protect you in your dreams. The closer I am to you when you’re sleeping, the easier it is for me to find you. Like last night, you were right there in front of me. I didn’t have to swim through oceans or run up never-ending hills or any of that shit. You were right there and it was fucking amazeballs!” She clasped my shoulders with a huge smile on her face. She was genuinely excited about this.

“I’m so glad that you were there to help me, Chloe. I needed a break from those nightmares. If what you’re saying is true, this is some serious sci-fi shit.”

“Just like your powers, right? You explained them to me when snow was falling in the middle of an October heat wave and I believed you. So this shouldn’t be much of a stretch at all.” Chloe didn’t apologize for mentioning my powers. I could tell that she was serious about keeping me from harm.

“And I believe you,” I said. “Now you have powers, whatever they are, and unlike me, you still need to use them.”

She folded her lips inward. “Right. The only thing I can’t figure out is the difference between Saturday and Sunday. We did the same thing both nights, but last night you didn’t have any bad dreams.”

My mind was already traveling a thousand miles an hour in this direction, so it wasn’t difficult at all for me to come to the obvious conclusion.

“You said the closer to me you are, the easier it is to reach me, right? Well, on Sunday you kissed me in your truck.”

Chloe stared at me for a bit. I could see that she was taking me seriously and really thinking about it. When she burst out into laughter, though, I thought perhaps I had been mistaken. “So, it’s not just the ‘closer’ we are, but the more ‘physically intimate’ we are? Max Caulfield, you are so needy.”

I was about to protest when she took me by the back of the neck and pulled me into a tender kiss, a blossoming of the union we shared in my dream last night. Our dream.

“Girls, are you –” My mother’s voice from the half-open door. I hadn’t even heard the knob turning. “I’ll come back later.” The sound of the door closing faded into nothingness as I lost my mind; I only regained consciousness when Chloe pulled her lips away. It might have been five seconds, it might have been half an hour. I would never know and I didn’t care.

“Like I said, I’ll do whatever it takes,” Chloe murmured.

_We’ll be together at the end of the day._

When she stepped back from me, she must have noticed that my dumb ass was still standing there with a toothbrush and a glass of water in my hands. “Unfortunately, I don’t see any money in making a romance novel out of this,” she said, ruffling my hair with her fingers.

I laughed so hard that I spilled water on the floor.

* * *

I was humming with energy as I sauntered down the stairs. My toothbrush was still laden with a crusted up glob of the children’s toothpaste Mom liked to keep in the bathroom. I could feel the subtle morning chill of the kitchen’s linoleum floor through my socks; the cloud-shrouded sunrise peeking through the double windows above the sink contained the fragile warmth of a candle compared to what I was feeling in my heart. I started scrubbing my teeth, my head filled with daydreams, when I heard a loud crashing sound from upstairs.

“ _Motherfucker!_ ” Chloe’s voice. Then another crash.

I sucked in a mouthful of salt water and gargled it quickly before spitting it out, then set the glass and toothbrush down in the sink. Mom raced out of the living room and up the steps ahead of me; I was right behind her, clutching the hem of her sweatshirt like a little kid. When we got to the top, I saw the metal rod that holds up the shower curtain sticking halfway out of the bathroom minus the curtain. Mom and I stepped around it and into the bathroom where we saw Kate in Mom’s white bathrobe, her brown hair still wet with streaks of shampoo foam. She was standing wide-eyed over two men in black suits and broken sunglasses. Chloe was beside her, rubbing the knuckles of her right hand and muttering obscenities to herself, oblivious to Mom’s presence. I went over to Chloe and put my hand on her shoulder – she tensed up at my touch, then snapped back to reality when she saw that it was me.

“Are you okay, Chloe?” said Mom. “Kate? Are you hurt?” Mom’s voice was faltering, like she was trying very hard not to panic.

“No, I’m fine,” said Chloe. “Maybe I sprained my wrist or bruised my knuckles, I don’t know.”

“I’m okay,” said Kate. “Just surprised.” She grabbed a towel with shaky hands and started drying her hair vigorously. ”Do you think those are the people who followed us from the mega-church yesterday?”

“Shit,” Chloe whispered. “They might be. They _must_ be. Who else would –”

“Maxine, I’m going to call the police,” interrupted Mom. “You girls come downstairs into the kitchen with me.”

“Mom, I need to grab some clothes for Kate. She can’t –”

“I just did laundry,” said Mom, taking my hand. “You can grab something out of the dryer. Let’s go.”

We bustled down the wooden steps behind her. She opened the basement door in passing; I ran down there as quickly as I could without going into a full tumble (I had done it once or twice when I was a little girl – and had an almost invisible scar next to my left eye to prove it). I breadbasketed the entire dryer load in my arms and skipped every other step on my way back up. I set the pile down on the kitchen table for Kate who scooped up the bulky mass, taking it into the living room just as Mom returned with her phone in hand. She kept it glued to her cheek as she opened the garage door and front door in rapid succession. “Hello? Yes, two men just broke into my house. Upstairs.” She went into the garage and checked the lock on Dad’s hunting rifle cabinet before returning.

“Mom, you’re not actually going to use one of Dad’s guns, are you?”

Mom looked at me with dead seriousness in her eyes, which was scary because she almost always wore a smile. “Caucasian, thirties, black suits, short black hair. No, my daughter’s girlfriend subdued them. We’re in the kitchen downstairs. Right. Okay…front lawn!” she snapped at us.

Kate was right behind us as we headed out into a dreary morning whose ominous, billowing clouds rolled above swarms of ichor-colored birds pulsing like blood through the veins of a slumbering storm giant. I felt a sudden urge to take a family photo before the heavens started showering us with the ever-present drizzle that tempers the city’s pulse. I thought better of it, though – Chloe in her pajamas and Kate in her grandma outfit weren’t exactly the most glamorous models. I tried to keep my head up in the clouds so I wouldn’t hear Mom’s chatter, but it was impossible to ignore her loud, shaky tone as she voice-dialed Dad on my phone and told him to come home from work _this instant_.

About a minute later two police cars drove straight up into the driveway. Several more pulled up alongside the curb. “They’re upstairs,” Mom said as the officers rushed into the house.

We spent about fifteen minutes standing cross-armed on the lawn making idle chatter with two of the officers before the rest of them hauled out a pair of handcuffed men with groggy faces that looked too soft to belong to hardened professionals. The officer who appeared to be in charge came over to where we were huddled together in the chill October air.

“We checked the rest of the house. It’s safe to go back inside now.”

It felt good to get back to the warmth of the house. When we had settled at the kitchen table, the officer who had spoken to us sat down with us; his partner stood behind him with a notepad and pencil in hand.

“I’m Sergeant Hutton,” he said, placing his phone down on the table. “We’ve got everything under control and the house is secure. I just need to ask you some basic questions. I’ll begin with the most obvious one: do you know these people?”

That was when Chloe decided to open the flood gates on everything that had been swimming around in her head for the past three days: the suits who followed us halfway through Oregon, the anonymous threats, the kidnappings, the tornado, and anything else she could remember – minus the sci-fi stuff. It was hard to listen to, especially for Kate who had to relive her trauma as it was described in painful detail from a third-person perspective. Chloe took everything bad that had happened to us, wrapped it up into one big Katamari ball of shit, and rolled it straight through the front door of the Seattle police department.

The officers seemed to be sympathetic to what we were saying – I assumed they would be somewhat dismissive since it probably sounded like something an aspiring mystery author would make up, but they assured us that they were aware of the investigation in Oregon (it was making national headlines, not that we had checked) and that they had heard and seen pretty much everything under the sun in their combined forty years on the force.

“We’ll pass this on to the detective downtown and he’ll be in contact with you. We’ll be keeping an eye on the neighborhood for a while just in case.”

“Thank you so much,” said Mom. “We really appreciate it.”

“We understand that you’ve gone through a great deal. I know this doesn’t sound like much, but we are sincerely sorry for your losses. Miss Marsh, at some point you may be asked to make another deposition to corroborate what the police in Arcadia Bay entered into their database before those tragic events occurred. When the time comes, please think about doing so. You and all those other girls deserve whatever justice there is to be rendered.”

“Okay. I’ll think about it,” said Kate.

“Thank you for your time today. Like we said, we’ll keep an eye on things. My hunch is that you got unlucky and won’t have any more problems. We’ll be in touch.”

Mom closed the door behind the officers. I watched the slow procession of departing police vehicles – all except one – through the windows over the sink. I sat back down at the table next to Chloe who had a dazed look on her face. I wondered what she was thinking about; my mind rewarded my curiosity by transporting me back to the white canvas and bright lights where I had spent an eternity being photographed like an animal in a zoo.

“Hey…” intoned a familiar voice. No, no, no, hell no. I didn’t want to think about who it was. I willed my body into stasis and let myself slide down ever further into the beckoning oblivion of a deep, dreamless sleep. The movie screen on my eyelids played a film whose scenes shifted back and forth between black and white and color haphazardly, a demented dance of Technicolor chiaroscuro. It was far preferable to being awake.

“Max!” Dad’s bearded face coalesced into view above me. My shoulders were shaking. “Are you okay?” If his eyebrows went down any further his forehead would take over his face.

“What’s going on?” I looked around and found myself in a stranger’s home. “Whose house are we in?”

Mom turned to me and frowned. “Does your head hurt, Maxine? Do you need some aspirin?”

“Are you sick?” asked Dad. “Are you hurt? Do you feel all right?”

I saw a countertop, a table, a refrigerator, and other unfamiliar items occupying the spaces between familiar faces. Had I seen these things somewhere before? I stared at them long and hard; I put my hands on my head in response to the sharp pain that accompanied sudden recognition: I was in Mom’s kitchen.

“Yeah…I’m fine,” I lied. “I just spaced out for a minute.”

“What happened?” asked Dad, still studying my face.

I took my hands off my head and tried to think of the last thing I could remember. “Two men broke into the house and Chloe beat them up,” I said. Mom was still frowning when she turned back to the stove. Instinctively, I ran my index finger across the cleft underneath my nose and looked at it. Nothing.

Dad stood up straight and put on his best smile. “Maybe you didn’t need me after all, then. I’m just glad everyone’s safe. Did they do any damage to the house?”

“No,” said Chloe softly. “That was me. Sorry.”

Dad grinned. “Where was it?”

“Upstairs in the bathroom,” said Mom without turning around. “The police said they came in through Maxine’s window. They also said they weren’t very skillful about it.”

“I’m going to go check it out, then,” said Dad.

“Take your boots off, dear.”

“Right,” said Dad, a bit of red creeping into his face. He clomped over to the foyer; I heard the sound of his steel-toed boots hitting the shoe mat with a muffled _thud_. Wooden steps creaked under his weight as he ascended the staircase.

“You girls might want to stay home today,” said Mom. She took a stack of plates out of the cupboard. “Dad took the rest of the day off. He’ll be able to protect you if anyone else decides to drop by unannounced.”

“So…we’re grounded?” said Chloe.

“Well, no, sweetie,” said Mom. “I’m just being a mother, that’s all. If you really want to go somewhere, you should probably take Dad with you.”

“I think it would be a nice change of scenery to go down to the Market and do some clothes shopping,” I said. “Chloe needs a new wardrobe.” My head felt like it was clearing up a bit. People watching would help keep it that way.

“That sounds fun,” said Mom. She started putting pancakes onto plates with a black plastic spatula. “We’ll ask Dad when he’s done admiring Chloe’s handiwork.” Mom’s smile had returned. She winked at Chloe who was staring at the table the way a child does when they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

We picked at our breakfast of syrupy pancakes in silence. Dad came downstairs in the middle of it. “Nothing I can’t fix,” he said to Mom. He went out into the garage.

We heard the sounds of a hammer and electric screwdriver from above not long after that. When we were just about finished eating, Mom put a plate of waffles in the center of the table. She wasn’t content to give you just one delicious thing to eat – it had to come in multiples. She had a corny saying: “Too much of a good thing is wonderful.” I still don’t know what it means or why she even says it, but Mom’s waffles and pancakes are the best, so why question it? Kate must have been thinking the same thing even though she hadn’t eaten more than a quarter of what was on her plate.

“Those were really good, Miss Caulfield.”

“Just call me Vanessa, honey. Have you three decided what you want to do at the Market?”

“Well,” I said. “I was thinking we could do lunch there, maybe have a look at the crafts market, then go visit the Space Needle and the glass art center. After that, we’ll just wing it.”

“That sounds like a good introduction to Seattle,” said Mom. “Be sure to take some pretty pictures for me with your camera.”

“I will definitely take a ton of pictures. I haven’t even felt like using it until today when I saw those creepy flocks of birds up in the sky. I guess it reminded me of…” My body was hit with a sudden rush of embarrassment and fear. “Never mind. I just feel like using my camera. I’ll take pictures for you, Mom.”

“Well,” said Mom, “those birds are probably going to hang around for a while. It’s not cold enough for them to head down south quite yet. There’s supposed to be a pretty big storm this evening. Seems a bit late in the year for that, but that’s the weather for you.” She turned to the foyer. “All done, dear?”

Dad was standing in the hallway with tools in hand, dust on his flannel shirt, and a smile hiding inside his beard. “Yep, good as new. The shower’s all ready for you when you want to wash up.”

We took turns in the shower when we were done with breakfast, leaving half-eaten short stacks on the table for Mom to clean up. I was the only one with a fresh set of clothes – Mom had taken a whole bunch of stuff from storage and filled up my room with it after I had left for Blackwell so she wouldn’t feel lonely – whereas Kate was still in her cardigan and Chloe had decided to stick with my Dad’s white t-shirt and blue checkered flannel. They fit her well enough.

When we came downstairs, we found Dad wearing the exact same clothes as Chloe, right down to the faded blue jeans, jingling his truck keys in his right hand with his left hand held behind his back. Ever since I had been a little girl, I had always been able to tell when he was going to do something silly. (Never mind that he made it obvious. That was part of the fun.)

“Dad,” I said playfully. “We were thinking of having a girls’ day out.”

Dad looked over at Mom who was reading a magazine at the kitchen table. She lifted her head and stared at me for a second. I knew she was taking me seriously. For all her smiles, she never indulged in the shenanigans Dad and I got into. Dad decided to kick start the conversation: “You know, dear, with Chloe as their chaperone, maybe they don’t need me.”

“Shush, Ryan. That’s enough. You’re an adult, Maxine, and you can do as you please, but your mother would like you to be home before evening and check in once or twice while you’re away. Just let us know where you are in case something happens or we need to come pick you up.”

“Sure, Mom. We’ll be at the Market most of the day.”

“I’ll hang out here and zap the bad guys if they come,” said Dad, clutching an old Nintendo Zapper he must have fished out of the boxes in the attic. He pulled the trigger a couple of times; it resounded throughout the foyer with a dull spring action sound.

I feigned a groan, putting the back of my right hand to my head as if I were in pain, but that didn’t stop Dad from rushing me and tickling my sides until I burst out in laughter. He’d get me to laugh one way or another – even in front of my friends – and that was enough to convince me that becoming an adult had been the cause of everything that had gone to shit in my life.

* * *

“Max, I’m going to start a new life,” said Chloe as we clambered into the cab of her truck. “I want to wash myself clean of all the shit that’s been clinging to me for the last five years. Take me to whatever store you want and pick out all my clothes for me.” She flashed me a weak smile. “Just nothing that you would wear.”

“Gee, thanks, girlfriend,” I replied. “Anything else of mine you don’t want to be seen wearing?”

“Your awesome camera, for one. It takes better pictures in your hands.” Chloe turned the key in the ignition, put the truck in reverse, and started backing out of the driveway carefully. “In fact, I think you should use it extensively today. And if you run out of instant film, we’ll find a place that sells some and buy more.”

“Now _that_ sounds like a plan,” I said. “And Kate, we’re going to get you some sketchpads and pencils and pens and markers and barrettes and…”

“Whoa there, Mad Max,” said Chloe, putting the truck in drive. “Let’s make a shopping list so we don’t forget all this stuff.”

“Can you write it down or is your hand still sore from punching out bad guys?”

“Seriously, I will punch out a hundred bad guys if I have to. I am still totally jacked from that. _Too_ jacked.”

“Thank you for protecting me, Chloe,” Kate chimed in. “I’m sorry for being distrustful.”

“Don’t worry about it, Kate. Max had a talk with me.” Chloe winked at me. “We don’t know each other that well, so I probably should have been more…what’s the word I’m looking for, Max?”

“More of an asshole.” Kate laughed.

Chloe smiled. “Max, you suck.”

We spent fifteen minutes cruising down I-5 before turning off onto Union Street. I directed Chloe to the parking ramp just past News Lane where we deposited her truck, then walked back to the surface. This was the perfect place to start a walking tour of 1st Avenue so we could check out all the shops and restaurants. We decided to skip the market entrance at Pike Place and had just passed Stewart Street when Chloe’s stomach reminded her that she had eaten like a bird at breakfast. She spotted a place called _Caffé Lieto_ with lines going out the door; she decided to go in for a closer look.

About ten seconds later she came stumbling out of the restaurant past smiling patrons and bounded back to us. “Max, that place is actually called the _Biscuit Bitch!_ They’re running a top-secret restaurant where everything on the menu is called a ‘Bitch’! Holy shit – maybe I was wrong about Seattle. We totally have to eat here.”

Kate’s stomach had started growling, too, and the lines at the “café” weren’t getting any shorter. “Do you think we could go somewhere that’s not so busy?” she asked.

“Sure,” said Chloe with a forced smile. “Lead the way, Max. You know this place a lot better than we do.”

“Okay. Let’s go!” I turned us around and set off at a brisk pace – so brisk, in fact, that Chloe and Kate almost had to run to keep up with me. I took us power-walking back the way we had come and hung a left onto Pine Street where I thought we might find something Kate would like. Sure enough, she stopped on a dime underneath the brown-and-red striped awnings of _Cupcake Royale_.

“Can we get cupcakes?” she said. I looked at Chloe and arched one eyebrow suggestively.

“Yeah, I will totally eat cupcakes for lunch,” she said. “But can we eat at the other place for dinner? I really need a _Smokin’ Hot Bitch_ in my life.”

“Chloe!” I said, pushing her shoulder playfully.

“Not in front of the children, please,” Kate said, fingering her necklace.

Chloe’s mild irritation dissipated into laughter. “Kate, your sense of humor is awesome.”

Once we were inside, it wasn’t too hard to find something that looked tasty. We thought about getting a dozen rainbow cupcakes – six chocolate with vanilla frosting and six vanilla with chocolate frosting – but the people who worked there recommended that we get two apiece if we were really hungry. Kate ordered a cupcake named after her (“The Kate”) – chocolate with pink vanilla buttercream – and a Coconut Bunny; I picked a chocolate Peppermint Party and a vanilla Dance Party (party time in Max’s tummy!); and Chloe got a Carrot Walnut and a Salted Caramel.

Lunchtime meant it was also tea time, so Kate and I got some Morning Glory Chai. Chloe sat down with a double espresso. We arranged our caffeine and cupcakes into a coffee-nosed smiley face in the center of the table; I took a picture of the still life masterpiece with my instant camera. I also got a photo of Chloe and Kate posing together, arms around shoulders, flashing peace signs.

With the pictures taken, we started chowing down. Kate ate hers carefully with a wrapped plastic fork she retrieved from her shoulder bag, while Chloe didn’t look much different from the stroller-bound toddler at the table next to us smashing his face into his cupcake with the baking cup still on. As soon as I bit into my Dance Party, I remembered why they usually suggested one or two per person – it was like eating a piece of rich, delicious tiramisu cake. By the time I was ready to start sipping my tea, I was stuffed.

Chloe sat back in her chair and patted her stomach. “Man, if I ate here every day I would be very happy.”

“Chloe, what are you patting? You don’t have a stomach,” I teased.

“Take me to the Biscuit Beach every day and I will,” she replied, looking around self-consciously at the families and couples enjoying their midday sweets. I knew the restaurants around here usually closed early but I checked the website on my phone just to make sure nothing had changed. It hadn’t. “It closes at two in the afternoon.”

“Seriously? That must be why they’re so busy. You can take me there for lunch tomorrow, right?” Chloe gave me a double thumbs up and a cheeky grin.

“Hold that pose and it’s a date,” I said, reaching into my tote bag for my camera. I snapped the dorkiest picture ever.

“All right. It’s a date,” she said as I handed her the drying photo. “This photo is a price I am willing to pay. Get it? Price?”

I leaned forward and let my forehead smack against the table dramatically. Kate sounded like she was trying very hard not to spit out her tea.

“Oh, come on, Max,” said Chloe. “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“So, what’s next?” asked Kate.

She was wiping her lips with a napkin as I sat back up and put my camera away. “Do you want to walk around the Market and check things out?” I asked.

“Sounds fun,” said Chloe. “It’ll be like going to the zoo except with people.”

The crafts market was a busy hive of bees buzzing about, looking for something good to pick up. We sauntered past a multitude of vibrantly decorated displays selling just about everything you could imagine: necklaces, hats, glass art, clay pottery, hand-knit clothing, winter wear, banjos, paintings, ceramics, and graffiti art, just to name a few. (Okay, maybe more than a few.)

Kate picked up another cross necklace for herself and a knit white scarf that she immediately started wearing around her shoulders. Chloe took a hardwood longboard with a naturally checkered wood grain pattern that reminded me of a chess board. If she were a chess piece, I think she’d be a rook: going straight for her target and smashing it down.

“I am totally going to start shredding rails again. Just not in these boots.”

Chloe was checking out her new wheels when I spotted something at one of the glass art displays: amid the hand-blown orange pumpkins with their glossy green stems hid an autumn-themed snow globe. Inside it sat a green-slatted bench beneath the overarching branches of an accommodating oak tree whose red and yellow leaves swirled about and fell to the ground when you shook it. Chloe was taken aback by the price at first, but handed over the seventy-five dollars when I told her it reminded me of when we used to play together in her backyard on cool, orange-hued days. I imagined us sitting underneath that tree, hand in hand, watching the leaves dance around us without a care in the world. I tucked the globe inside my tote bag next to my camera.

I still had two rolls of film left, so I decided to put them to good use by snapping photos of everything and anything that looked cool: a silver ring in the shape of a coiled dragon, holiday buttons with carved pumpkin faces that said “PIKE PLACE MARKET”, Pez dispensers that looked like Troll dolls, and hand-bound leather journals. I thought about picking one of those up, but decided against it – at the rate I was currently word-smithing, I would probably have to come back here once a month to restock.

Once Chloe found a knee-length black button-up winter coat, her new wardrobe started assembling itself in my mind. I picked out a beanie-style black winter hat to match her coat along with some gloves; five pairs of hand-sewn jeans joined the closet she had started hauling around in a huge cloth shopping tote we picked up for ten dollars. (“Max, you seriously want to pay ten bucks for a shopping bag?” “Yeah, you’ll use it like a thousand times.”) We topped it off with a mix of mostly sleeved t-shirts (“girl power”, “rock out”, “I can’t hear you over the sound of how awesome I am”), some black Converse shoes, and a couple of sweatshirts. It took out a huge chunk of our savings, but was totally worth it.

After about an hour and a half, our limbs were aching from hauling around all the cool stuff we had picked up. We headed back to the parking garage and plopped our bags down on the ratty floor of Chloe’s truck. We stared at the concrete pillar through the windshield for a while. Eventually, Chloe asked me for directions to the Space Needle. She wasn’t too thrilled about the prospect of driving down a bunch of one way streets, so I told her to just go straight to the viaduct and follow it north. That didn’t seem to make her feel any better.

“Dude, I am seriously claustrophobic on these streets. How does anyone drive here?”

“They practice with Matchbox cars.”

I’m sure Chloe would have given me a withering look if she hadn’t been hyper-focused on navigating an unfamiliar four-lane tunnel with trippy light patterns on the walls. The messy intersection at the end of it froze her in place – I had to tell her to turn left three times before she actually heard me. When we got to the Needle’s designated parking area on Taylor Avenue, she shook her head.

“They use a side street for parking at one of the biggest tourist attractions around? This place is as weird as you are, Max.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I’d like to think that Chloe changed her mind when we got to the top of the Needle – being 650 feet above the city gives you a new perspective on things. A tourist from California used my phone to take a picture of the skyline with the three of us in the center of it. (Kate held up my snow globe and wore the most adorable smile you’ve ever seen in your life.) I thanked him as he handed my phone back to me; I continued walking around the circular platform, making a panoramic recording that created a “moment in time” out of the greenery-hedged, blocky buildings that resided in the realm of the earth-bound.

Chloe and Kate were busy looking through one of the telescopes, so I had only my thoughts to accompany me. Instead of dwelling on them, I let them dissipate and float away with the gusts of cool wind that swept through every so often. I just wish I could send all of my waking and dreaming worries off into the breeze and be done with it. Life would be a lot easier if my mind didn’t spend so much time coming up with new ways to freak me out. I felt the weight of the world descending on my shoulders as we rode the elevator back down to earth where we rejoined our fellow groundlings.

Our package tickets for the Space Needle also got us into Chihuly Glass and Garden next door, so off we went. I led the way with camera in hand – I knew I would get some awesome shots here. I had been here before several times but always enjoyed coming back periodically to take in the ever-changing exhibits and colorful flora. I spent an entire roll of film: a shot of Chloe next to a giant, swirling red rose; a picture of Kate standing in the middle of an explosion of orchids that made her look like a faerie; and an ethereal image of myself (taken by Chloe) tucked into a swarm of crystalline blue butterflies about to take flight. I felt like I could stay here all day – _this_ was why I lived: to celebrate and elevate the banality of everyday life with an explosion of creative expression.

We rounded out our afternoon adventures with a visit to the Museum of Pop Culture. Kate got bored pretty quickly and asked to borrow my phone; Chloe fell in love with the vintage instruments and equipment. I snuck a shot of her pretending to rock out with a replica of Jimi Hendrix’s maple-necked 1968 Stratocaster before the staff shooed us away. She looked like she was really in her element even as we were being lectured. I wonder if she’s ever considered taking up music.

Eventually the day grew a bit too long and we ran out of energy. We sat down on a patch of grass outside the museum, stretching our legs and arms.

“I’m done being a super-tourist,” said Chloe. “Tomorrow let’s do something off the beaten path that doesn’t cost a million dollars. After lunch.” She winked at me.

“Sure,” I said. “Let’s head home. It’ll be time for dinner when we get back.”

We walked back to Chloe’s truck, piled in, and took off toward the highway.

* * *

We looked like coconut trees dropping ripened fruit onto the ground as we let our weighty burdens slide down onto the floor of the foyer. Our cloth behemoth bag was so heavy and our arms were so tired that Chloe and I had to shoulder one handle each just to move it. It was joined by two bulging totes and a pair of stylized plastic bags containing some of the impulse buys we had made: a miniature model of the Space Needle and accompanying post card for Kate; and a couple of hand-held glass art pieces carefully wrapped and cushioned in protective cases for me and Chloe. Mom had a pan of lasagna and enough plates for two families on the table when we sat down. I looked over at the stove – sure enough, she was ladling ravioli onto a large serving tray. This week’s theme must have been tomato sauce.

“Looks like a pretty good haul,” said Mom. “How was the Market?”

“It felt good to get out and about even if there were a million people around us,” said Chloe. “I can’t wait to chow down on a _Hot Mess_.”

Mom raised her eyebrows in Chloe’s direction. “Chloe found a restaurant downtown that she likes,” I explained. “That’s what one of the menu items is called.”

“I see,” said Mom, turning back to the stove.

“We had cupcakes,” said Kate. “They were delicious.”

“Cupcakes!” said Dad, walking in from the living room. “I’m always in the mood for a sugar rush. Did you have a good time?”

“From all the bags they brought back, I’d say so,” said Mom.

“We got a new wardrobe for Chloe and picked up some other things,” I said. “Tomorrow we’ll head somewhere a little less expensive and crowded. And I need to find a place that sells film for my camera.”

“Oh, let me see your pictures, honey,” said Mom as she placed the serving tray on the table.

“There’s a stack of them in my tote bag.”

Mom stepped out into the foyer and fished out my photos while we served ourselves. She sat down, one leg crossed over the other, and fingered through them, smiling appreciatively. “I like these glass pumpkins.”

“I found an autumn-themed snow globe, too. It’s really cool. When you shake it, leaves fall instead of snow.”

“Cute,” said Mom.

She took absent-minded forkfuls of pasta in between pictures while the rest of us ate more attentively. For dessert, we binged on a grocery store version of the strawberry ice cream we had been too full to even think about at the cupcake shop (“Oregon Hill Strawberry”). It was the perfect way to end dinner. When we were done, we dragged our heavy bellies into the living room and plopped them down atop the couches. I had just started to doze off when I heard a low, rumbling sound: _The detective called from downtown._ I sat up abruptly and looked around, then leaned back against the leathery cushion. There was an uncomfortable silence.

Dad was fiddling with the remote. The television flickered before coming to life, a screen full of static, boxy pictures spanning its width. “What did he say?” I asked.

“Well, those two guys they arrested earlier today were only too happy to spill the beans on their employer – they wouldn’t say anything beyond ‘Prescott’, though. They claim they weren’t being paid what they were promised. The detective says they’re two of the biggest amateurs he’s ever seen so whoever hired them got their money’s worth. And we might never know exactly who that is because apparently they found Sean Prescott’s body this morning in the woods surrounding his family estate in Oregon.”

“That’s awesome,” Chloe blurted out. She had her hands behind her head and was staring at the ceiling. She turned to look at my dad. “Awesome that we don’t have to worry anymore. Right?”

“That’s the sense I get from the detective,” Dad replied. “He said there’s some squabbling between relatives and enemies over the estate, so it’s just as likely that someone from outside the family hired them as otherwise. He said there might even be foul play involved in Sean Prescott’s demise. Whatever the case may be, they expect all this business to shift over to legal wrangling that will probably take years to sort out. Long story short, we don’t have anything more to worry about, like you said.”

“So the rest of us can go back to trying to have normal lives,” I said.

“And there’s no better way to cap off a normal day out on the town than with movies and popcorn,” said Dad, slapping his knee with his hand. “The TV’s all ready to go – pick out whatever you want.”

Dad handed me the remote. I thumbed through row after row of unattractive movie posters advertising dozens of “blockbusters” and “break-out hits” with less than stellar ratings. Dad always told me to ignore those little numbers next to the filled-in star outlines but I could never seem to look past them. (“Most of the people who take the time to leave a review are the ones who didn’t like it,” he would remind me.) There were a couple of off-beat international films that looked interesting; I wasn’t sure whether Kate and Chloe would share my enthusiasm.

“How about _Star Trek: Into Darkness_?” I offered.

“Nerd alert!” said Chloe.

“Oh, shush. You don’t remember watching _Blade Runner_? It’s the same type of movie.”

“ _Blade Runner_  rocks. I'm down with sci-fi.”

“Cool…what do you think, Kate?”

“That sounds fine,” said Kate. “I don’t mind space movies as long as they don’t go overboard with weird philosophies.”

“This is nothing like _2001: A Space Odyssey_ …I think it’s more about action.”

“Okay.”

“Sounds good,” said Chloe.

“What else?” I continued to thumb through advertisements that ranged from dramatic to subtle to obnoxious.

“How about _Despicable Me 2_?” asked Kate, pointing to a picture of a one-eyed jelly bean wearing a goggle. “It came out this summer and I haven’t had the chance to see it yet.”

“Is that a horror film?” asked Chloe, staring at her right hand as she rubbed it gently. “I’m not really into people pretending to be scared and screaming random stuff while running away from some dude in a mask.”

“No, it’s more like an animated family movie,” Kate explained.

Chloe glanced up at the screen. “Oh, I remember now: the one with all the little minions. Yeah, I suppose I could watch that. My brain is pretty melted anyways. Hope you don’t get mad if I fall asleep.”

“It’s cool,” I said. “I’ll watch it for you and tell you all about it tomorrow.”

“ _Fantastic_ ,” said Chloe. She didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm.

“All right,” said Dad, “I’ll queue up the movies while the popcorn pops on the stove.”

“Stove?” asked Chloe.

“We don’t use the microwave for that. Only the good stuff around here, with real butter. I just wish we had a better movie room than a flat screen TV on a plastic stand inside a wooden cabinet.”

“Fifty inches is pretty huge,” replied Chloe.

“It’s not insane or anything,” said Dad, “but it’ll do.” He retrieved our snacks from the kitchen, set them out on the table for us, and left us to ourselves.

We spent the next four hours watching films. I really liked Star Trek even though it did away with canon in some places – in fact, I liked it so much that I forgot to sneak a glance at Kate and Chloe’s facial expressions. We munched on buttery, salty popcorn and washed it down with soda. I chugged as much as I could, hoping it would keep me up all night. The downside was that I ended up missing parts of the movie.

“What did you think?” I asked when it was done.

Chloe shrugged her shoulders.

“It was kinda violent,” said Kate. She was engrossed in something or other on my phone.

“That’s true,” I conceded. “Time for some animated madness!”

Shortly after Despicable Me came on, I took my hoodie off, pretending I was warm, and put it on my lap. Then I pulled off the corniest “watching a movie” move ever by taking Chloe’s hand underneath the bunched up fabric. She threaded her fingers between mine.

When I felt her hand go slack ten minutes later, I knew she had fallen asleep. Kate really got into the movie, almost the way a little kid would. It was a fun romp through life, the universe, and everything. (I think Real Life could learn a thing or two from children’s movies.) When the credits started rolling, Kate had a huge smile on her face – this was the happiest I had seen her all day.

“That was a really cute movie, Max. Thanks for letting me watch it here!”

“Any time. You could get caught up on your movie watching to-do list if you stayed here long enough.”

“That’s very tempting. I texted my parents and told them I’d be coming back soon. Now that the bad stuff seems to be mostly over, I think it might be safe to go back to Portland. But maybe not for a couple more days if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay. You can stay here as long as you want. I’m sure Mom and Dad won’t mind.”

“Won’t you be going back to school soon?”

“Well…” I said. “I was actually going to talk to my mom about seeing a counselor. A lot of the stuff from Arcadia Bay has my head really messed up, especially these nightmares. I think I need to get some of that stuff fixed before I go back to school. There’s some serious mental trauma there. And I don’t mean to sound like an ass, but I know you probably have similar issues.”

“You don’t sound like an ass at all, Max. I do have issues, but God will help me work through them. They have some pretty good counselors at the mega-church and I can talk to Father Lamont at our church. He’s really good at listening.”

“Oh, that’s so cool that you already have a support network.”

“Yeah, they’re really nice people. They’ve been through some pretty terrible things themselves. A lot of them weren’t exactly angels when they first started attending church, contrary to what you might think.”

“Well, I think you’re an angel, Kate, and I want you to stay that way.”

“Thanks, Max. I feel the same way about you. And I hope you can be a good influence on Chloe.”

I looked over at Chloe who was snoring softly with her mouth half-open. “She’s a good person, Kate. She just had some really shitty stuff happen to her.”

“That’s a dollar for the swear jar,” Chloe muttered in her sleep. I laughed as I wiped my eyes with the folds of my hoodie – I didn’t want Kate to see. “We were really close when we were kids. Her father’s death hit her hard, and after that Mom and Dad moved me to Seattle, so she didn’t have her best friend either.”

“Oh, wow. That must have been really rough for her. Is that why she’s…sorry. That was rude.”

“Aggressive? Yeah, that’s why. I think getting out of Arcadia Bay has helped her, but she still feels like shit about not being able to help her mom.”

“What do you mean? Nobody can stop a tornado.”

“Her mom was in the Two Whales when it exploded. She blames herself for not being there to prevent it.”

I thought Kate was going to protest, but she didn’t. Instead, she covered her lips with her hand. “Oh, God. I know exactly how she feels.” She let her hand drop. “I should have been nicer to her. Now I feel like shit.”

“You’re in good company when it comes to feeling like shit. I think right now everything can be forgiven. We’re still alive, and we need to keep moving forward. That’s what the people who were lost would want us to do.”

“You’re right. No matter how many times you end up telling me that, you’ll always be right.” Kate crept over to Chloe with one hand extended, put it on her shoulder, and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. Chloe awoke with a start that sent Kate scurrying back to her spot on the couch.

“Max! Did you have any nightmares? Shit. I fell asleep.”

“No, I haven’t gone to bed yet. We’re done with the movies. Kate and I were just talking.”

“Good. I have to be there when you go to sleep. I wonder if I can bring my longboard so I don’t have to run out into the ocean.”

“Your longboard has wheels, buttercup.”

“Oh. Right.”

Kate giggled. “You sound pretty tired.”

“Hella tired, but I can slam some coffee if I need to.”

“Speaking of tired,” I said, yawning and stretching my arms behind my head, “I think I’m going to go get ready for bed. We’ll get a good night’s rest so we can go to the Market for breakfast and have Chloe’s new favorite restaurant to ourselves. Mostly.”

“That is an awesome plan, Max,” said Chloe. “Have I ever told you that you are my favorite Max? Oh,” she said, looking around me at Kate. “You are my favorite Kate. How was your Kate cupcake, by the way? I forgot to ask.”

“It was really good! It’s my favorite, too.”

“Next time we stop by there, Max,” Chloe said to me with an ever-so-serious look in her eyes, “I am going to suggest that they add ‘The Chloe’, strawberry-flavored angel food cake with blueberry frosting, and ‘The Max’, vanilla with chocolate frosting sprinkled with Nerds candy.”

“Shut _up_. You’re such a dork when you’re tired.”

“I know, right? I need to go take a shower and wash away all this dorkiness.”

“That will take _forever_ ,” I protested.

“Max, you are so _cute_!” said Chloe, pinching my cheeks. “I’ll be done in like five minutes max. Get it? Max?”

I fell backwards into Kate’s lap with a groan while Kate giggled. Before I knew it, Chloe was straddling me, delivering a merciless tickle attack that only subsided when Dad walked back into the room to shut down the entertainment center.

“Shower time!” announced Chloe as she jumped off the couch and ran upstairs like an Olympic sprinter.

Dad’s deep laughter sounded like the rumbling thunder of a storm coming in.

* * *

Kate and I had showered and changed into long-sleeved cotton pajamas. This time, though, Kate slipped away into the guest room that was sandwiched between my room and my parents’ bedroom. Mom went in to check on her while I was drying my hair in the hallway, then met me where I was standing, my fluffy white bath towel draped over my head like a sleeping bunny rabbit. Chloe was still in the shower.

“You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend,” she murmured.

“I didn’t know I had one,” I whispered in reply.

“I understand. I remember when I first met your dad. He had just gotten a construction job pouring concrete and stopped by the parking lot of the bank on my lunch break. When I sat down next to him in his truck, he hauled his lunchbox up onto the seat between us and offered me one of his sandwiches.”

I frowned. “Why did he do that? Didn’t you bring your own lunch?”

“That was our first date.” She smiled. “We didn’t call it that at that time. He was embarrassed that he didn’t have enough money to take me out to eat, but he made do with what he had. Later on he found out that my idea of a date was to do whatever you would have done if you were already married. I was more interested in spending time with him than getting to know local restaurants and movie theaters. I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s better to just experience whatever’s happening – don’t worry about having to do certain things or using specific words to describe it.”

“Oh, yeah, I understand what you’re saying. It’s like taking photos – certain filters and settings might give you a prettier shot, but you shouldn’t obsess over those things at the expense of what’s in front of you.”

“Exactly.” Mom ran her fingers through my hair, forgetting that it was still wet, then laughed to herself as she dried her hand on her slacks. “We’ll be sleeping with our door open so Kate doesn’t feel too lonely. Just hang something on your doorknob if you don’t want to be bothered.”

“ _Mom!_ It’s not like that. Seriously.”

“I know, honey. I’m just teasing. Good night.” She retreated into her bedroom, leaving a wedge of light streaming in through the half-open door. I had just shuffled into my room to examine my face in the mirror when Chloe came in behind me, eyeballing herself the same way I was.

“I feel like a kid again wearing clothes like this,” she said. “The last time I wore a sweater was when we were teenagers.”

“That’s a good thing,” I replied. “I wish we could pretend to be kids more often. They don’t have to worry about the responsibilities of being an adult.”

“True that. ‘With great responsibility comes great bullshit’ a wise man once said.” Chloe crashed down onto my bed like a tree that had just been felled. She folded her hands atop her stomach and gazed up at the ceiling. “I could stare at these patterns for hours. There’s something hypnotic about them.”

“Just like the aurora?” I said as I switched off the light. I climbed over the long, white mass of pajamas near the edge of the bed and lay down close enough to Chloe that I could see her chest rising and falling in the wan moonlight.

“Yeah, just like the aurora.”

“I think that’s the most vivid dream I’ve ever had.”

“Same here.” Silence. “So, Max, I was wondering…”

“What?”

“You remember what happened _after_ the aurora, right?” She turned over on her side and beamed a pale, pastel smile at me. It felt like thorns were piercing the skin of my cheeks as I sat up.

“Uh…” was all I could manage.

“Relax, Max. It was just a dream.”

“Yeah, I know. It just felt really real. Like, real enough to be enough.”

The mattress of the bed vibrated briefly in response to the impact from her back. “It _was_ a pretty awesome dream. I’m going to lie here and think about stars and planets and cosmic consciousness until you’re sound asleep. Then, I’m going to drift off in your direction and hopefully when I get there you’ll be buying me a _Bitchwich_ at the Biscuit Bitch. God, I love that name.”

“Good night, Chloe,” I said as I lay down, grabbing my massive down blanket by one corner and tossing it on top of us. Chloe reacted to my entirely unnecessary announcement by taking my hand. “See you soon, space cowboy,” she crooned.

The sudden sound of thunder boomed like an explosion somewhere in the distance. The aftereffects were so powerful that it felt like the house’s foundations were shaking. My abdomen contracted violently in response to a sudden, sharp pressing sensation. I threw off the blanket and bounded over Chloe, yanking the door open on my way to the bathroom.

“You okay, Max?” she shouted after me.

“It’s just the popcorn,” I called back. Mom was out in the hallway checking on Kate again.

Ten minutes and what must have been half a can of air freshener later, I hobbled back into bed and gently lowered my tailbone onto unexpectedly firm cushioning. I grunted.

“Indigestion?” asked Chloe.

“Must be. Maybe wait until I’m asleep before you do the Vulcan mind meld.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

I tried to calm myself by taking deep, measured in-breaths and exhaling slowly, like a smokestack letting off steam. I didn’t know whether my unscheduled privy run had been caused by the weather or Chloe’s cavalier attitude toward what had happened, but it was enough to make my bowels go haywire. As awesome as the experience had been in my dream, when it came to the thought of doing that stuff in real life, I was absolutely terrified.

Eventually, a black velvet curtain descended over my eyes which flickered fitfully as I tried to follow the frenetic white lines of lightning being etched into the sky by a madman’s shaking hand. I found myself standing in front of Green Lake for a second time, surrounded by barren, featureless, brown terrain. A massive geyser spouted up from the water’s surface, spraying the parched shores with a foamy mist that dotted the earth with scraggly green grass wherever it landed. I walked over to where it was falling, thinking to cleanse myself of all the horrors that had been inflicted on me in my nightmares. The droplets that had looked so cool and soothing were actually scalding hot – I jumped back and yelped in pain. When I looked down at my body, there were giant holes in my clothing where I had been struck; I was covered in hideous welts and bruises that oozed pus and venom all over. It was fucking gross.

As if that weren’t enough, the geyser began to flush the entire lake up into the air. I wanted to run like hell, but my decaying flesh was too weak to hold up my frame. A massive grey hump materialized above the sinking surface of the emptying basin, releasing a torrential stream of water that must have gone as high up into the night sky as the Space Needle. It descended on me with such force that it pinned me to the ground, leaving me to gasp for air as I tried to cry out for Chloe. I felt myself breaking up into pieces, my final breath leaving my body as my lungs collapsed under the water’s crushing weight. I turned my neck to one side with the last of my strength and saw the bulging, worm-veined white eye of a whale staring back at me through fist-sized globules before my mind erased itself.

I felt a horrendous jerking motion convulse what was left of my body. I bolted upright into a painfully bright box. The blinding glare receded into the periphery the way a projector reel’s film melts when it overheats. Shapes and colors assumed their earthly substance: dresser, closet, bed, feet, squares on the wall, Mom kneeling beside me on the bed, Chloe’s blue fingernails on my collarbone.

“Maxine, are you all right?” asked Mom.

“Yes,” was my response, but it came out as a stream of vomit on my legs.

“Oh, my. That popcorn must have done a number on you. Where does it hurt? Your head? Your stomach?”

I put one hand on my skull and the other on my belly – neither of them seemed to be in pain. I shook my head (also not painful).

“You must have been having some pretty rough dreams,” said Mom, wiping off my legs with a towel. “I’ll get your sheets into the laundry. Go use the toilet if you still need to throw up.”

“I’ll run the shower for her,” said Chloe.

“Thank you, dear,” said Mom.

This was the first time a nightmare of mine had made me physically ill. I motioned for Chloe to turn around; when she did, I put my hands on her shoulders. She sat down on the bed, took my legs under her arms, and power-squatted me into a piggyback ride. I felt myself levitating over the grey carpet in the hallway as if I were playing an unwinnable game of Quidditch in slow motion. Chloe set me down gently on the tiles of the bathroom floor in front of the toilet. I tried to force myself to retch up whatever was left, but nothing came. The sound of the shower starting up completely paralyzed me with the exception of my vocal cords which produced the kind of strangled cry a newborn calf might make. Chloe’s face was next to mine.

“It’s okay, Max. I’ll help you.”

“No shower,” I slurred. “Bath.”

“Sure. I’ll run one for you. But first, we need to get these clothes off and spray you down so you’re not swimming around in firehose puke.”

When Chloe undressed me I was so exhausted and woozy that I didn’t even care. I stepped into the bathtub and latched onto the short metal handrail. Chloe ran a gentle stream of water over me, careful to keep the hand held shower head below my neck. I stood there with half-open eyes, slowly regaining my strength while she ran a warm bath for me.

“All ready to go.”

If Chloe hadn’t been so quick to catch me, I probably would have fallen on my ass trying to sit down. She grabbed a loofah, squeezed a handful of body wash into it, and scrubbed me from shoulder to toes, leaving a layer of bubbly white foam behind.

“It’s not winter yet, Snowman Max, but you’re already in the Christmas spirit.”

I was able to convince my cheeks to smile. When Chloe was done rinsing me, she took a towel, lifted me up into a standing position, helped me out of the bathtub, and dried me off like she had done this a million times before. She slipped a bathrobe on me and led me back into my room, where she poked through dresser drawers until she found the one that housed my sleepwear.

“Do you need help putting them on?” she asked softly.

“No. I should be all right.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at her feet while I pulled my clothes on. I lowered myself to the pillow-flanked futon on the floor without bothering to cover myself with one of the light blue blankets Mom had left there. Chloe switched off the light and left the room; some time later she returned from the hallway. I felt her take my hand as she lay down beside me. She smelled like shampoo.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Better. I still don’t know what’s going on.”

“Just rest.”

I spent the next couple of hours terrified of falling asleep. All that soda hadn’t done a damn thing for me. I didn’t want to wake up again and barf all over something or someone else, especially not Chloe. When I felt like my limbs would do what I wanted them to, I hauled myself up into a cross-legged position. Chloe was right there beside me, one arm around my back and the other on my knee.

“Max, don’t force anything. If you’re not feeling well, you should lie down.”

“I’m feeling fine now. I just want to check on Kate.”

“Your mom checked on her before she went to sleep. I’m sure she’s fine.” Deep, rumbling thunder sounded nearby. Heavy drops of rain began pelting the window above my bed.

“I just want to make sure she’s not afraid of thunderstorms,” I said.

“All right, Max. I’ll help you.”

She lifted me to my feet and kept her arm around me as I stepped into the hallway. The door to the guest room was slightly open, but the window blinds weren’t letting much moonlight through. I pushed against the doorknob weakly, approaching the bed the way a cat sneaks up on a mouse. I could discern a mass of blankets in the darkness; I really wanted to know whether Kate was underneath them. I felt for the bedside lamp with my left hand.

_Click._

“Kate?” I whispered. I put my hand on top of the mound of fabric; instead of coming to rest on her sleeping body, it sank down to the mattress. I bunched up the blanket in both hands and pulled it to the foot of the bed. No Kate.

“Where did she go?” asked Chloe from behind me. “Do you think she crawled into bed with your parents?”

I stifled a laugh as I turned around. “Well, they sleep with the light on. Let’s go take a look.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to wake them up.”

“It’s fine. Dad’s a heavy sleeper and Mom won’t care. She naps during the day.”

“All right. I’m going to wait in the hallway just in case.”

I tiptoed into my parents’ bedroom even though the carpet masked the sound of my footsteps well enough. They were both snoozing away with no Kate in sight. I did a half-assed moonwalk back into the hallway.

“She’s not there,” I whispered. “And she doesn’t have her phone so there’s no way to contact her. What do we do?”

“Split up and search the house?”

“All right. I’ll check upstairs. You check downstairs.”

“Got it.”

I searched every room, closet, corner, and crawl space. I knew all of the best ways to become invisible after having played hide and seek with my friends (yes, teenagers still play that game sometimes when they’re bored on a hot summer’s day and the air conditioner’s blasting). I didn’t see Kate anywhere. I went downstairs and double-checked Chloe’s trail since she doesn’t know my parents’ house quite as well as I do. We met up in the kitchen.

“I looked everywhere,” she said. “Even the laundry room.”

Raindrops hammered the windows above the sink. The sky lit up with a jagged-tined fork of lightning that turned our heads.

“That was intense,” said Chloe.

“Let’s look in the garage.”

We put on our shoes, flipped on the light switch, and walked around the solitary car Mom and Dad kept parked inside. Nothing.

“Maybe she went outside?” offered Chloe.

“In this weather? She doesn’t know her way around the neighborhood, anyways.” I crossed my arms, shivering. “I’m going to call the police.”

“Shit,” sighed Chloe, her exasperation barely registering over the rain drumming against the garage door.

We slipped our shoes off, closed the door behind us, and lumbered up the steps. I retrieved my phone from its spot on the dresser where it was charging and thumbed open the lock screen. My Messages app was open – I had apparently been typing a text to Kate. (I had?)

> Meet me at the lake.

“Chloe, do you remember me texting on my phone in the last few hours?”

“No. You were too sick to do much of anything.”

I didn’t feel like explaining, so I just showed her my phone.

“Please tell me you have rain jackets.”

“Of course we do,” I laughed. “It’s Seattle.”

Chloe stared at me blankly, then shrugged. “Let’s go,” she said. She grabbed her keys and followed me down the stairs. We slipped on a pair of yellow rain jackets and rubber boots, then set out onto the front steps where we flipped open two huge umbrellas. I decided that I didn’t want to take a chance on getting my phone wet, so I ran back inside and grabbed a high-powered flashlight from the garage.

“It’s just across the street,” I shouted as I illuminated Green Lake Drive. “We can walk there.”

“Awesome,” yelled Chloe.

I trudged off down the driveway and waved the flashlight to the left and right several times before proceeding. Chloe stayed at my side, the rim of her umbrella bumping up against mine. We passed between copses of coniferous trees swaying back and forth in the heady winds, needles and leaves bending in response to the unyielding cascade of manna from the heavens. When we got to the trail that rings the lake, I made a slow circle with the flashlight, stopping when I spied a diminutive figure standing beneath wispy branches that bore a lush canopy.

“Kate!” I shouted as I raced over to where she was standing.

When we got close enough to make out her messy bun of hair, she arched her shoulders and whirled around, squinting her eyes in response to the intensity of my flashlight. I was going to switch it to a lower setting, but my limbs and joints had turned to ice.

Kate had one of Dad’s hunting rifles at her hip, and was pointing it straight at Chloe.


	9. Ophelia, Cousin of Daphne

“You’re coming home with me,” shouts Kate. Carmine kohl rings her eyes, burning like cinders as she levels what looks like a shotgun at your gut. Her dark, caramel hair clings to the side of her face for dear life as rainwater soaks the meshwork of leaves in the willow tree above her, sparing her from the brunt of the storm’s downpour. Out of the corner of your eye you see Max frozen in place. She’s whining loudly the same way she did earlier when you meant to give her a shower. You wonder whether this was what her nightmare was about.

“Where’s home?” you yell, trying not to sound too shaken. You want to scream at her, to demand to know what the fuck is going on, but think better of it with a weapon pointed at you. At least you’re trying to keep your cool, this time.

“I’ve filled up her skirt pockets with rocks,” says Kate, almost as if she’s being strangled by an unseen assailant. Her curious articulation hushes the relentless downfall. “I had to grab a pair of Ryan’s old suspenders to hold it up. Her waist is almost as skinny as mine.” The sound of rain hammering against the pavement of the trail, the ground, the lake intensifies. “I’ll be your Ginny. You can be my Leonard. Let’s go to the city of angels like we always wanted to, angel.”

You stare long and hard, blinking silently beneath your oversized umbrella as cool mist layers itself over your bony cheeks. This is _not_ how things end. Your life didn’t end when you found her, and it’s not going to end now – not as long as you have anything to say about it – but you are _so_ not fucking over this. The slow-burning embers of rage and hate and pain and fear within your heart ignite in a blaze of volatile heat that rushes to the crown of your skull and explodes from your mouth in a choir of furies.

“ _Rachel, you fucking bitch! Leave her alone!_ ”

A blast from the shotgun arcs over your head faster than you can track. Your right hand convulses in pain as the thick, black handle of the umbrella shreds your skin on the way to the ground behind you. You clench your forearm; rivulets of blood flow from your palm and trace their way down the veins beneath your wrist.

“Why?” you scream. You see Max fumbling frantically with the flashlight; the blinding beam dims.

“I need you,” says Rachel. That fucking whore is looking out at you from eyes that don’t belong to her and never will.

“I don’t need you,” you reply with a snarl. At this point you don’t give a damn whether the next buckshot goes between your eyes.

“ _Chloe!_ ” gurgles Max. You don’t turn your head to look at her. You don’t want Rachel’s attention anywhere else right now. “I need you,” she sobs.

“I had her first, sweetie,” says Rachel, her eyes floating over to Max. The gun is still pointed at you.

“No, you didn’t,” says Max. “She was mine before you ever met her. We’ve been best friends since we were kids.”

Rachel looks back at you. God, this is so fucked up seeing Kate’s body do this. “Best friends? We were more than that, weren’t we, Chloe?”

“Bullshit. You’d hook up with anyone who had drugs. I didn’t have any, so you didn’t need me, did you?”

“You were different and you know it! We were together because we wanted to be! The way it’s supposed to be. I didn’t want to die!”

“And I didn’t want you to either, but you did. You can’t punish the people who are still alive just because you’re angry! Especially not Kate. She’s too innocent for this bullshit!”

“And I wasn’t? Do you think I _want_ to be in this body? She’s the only one I could find that would let me into your dreams without shitting the bed.”

You throw back the hood of your rain jacket. Weighty drops flood your fading blue hair, washing away the bitterness of a life lived in anger. “I’m not coming with you. My place is here, with Max.” You pull your rain jacket off over your head and toss it to the ground.

Rachel stares at you, then hefts the shotgun from her hip to her shoulder. She has to put it back down because it’s too heavy for Kate’s arms; Kate doesn’t know how to hold it, anyways. “Your place is in her nightmares?” she says, her voice hot with jealousy.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. If that means I have to live in her nightmares, then so be it.”

“But you don’t have to, Chloe. You can come with me, and we’ll watch over her together.”

“Leave me alone!” Kate cries out in anguish, as if she’s fighting to regain control of herself.

“I need your voice right now, Kate,” says Rachel. “This will all be over in a little bit. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“What you’re doing is wrong, Rachel!” shouts Max. The storm intensifies, almost like it’s trying to drown out the sound of Max’s voice. “Kate went through the same thing that you did. So did I. It’s not right to punish us just because we lived.”

Rachel’s grip on the stock of the shotgun falters and the muzzle falls to the ground. “What?” You can’t tell whether it’s Kate asking the question, or Rachel, or both of them.

“I don’t know why,” says Max, “but I was given the power to rewind time. I used it to save Chloe so many times that it caused a tornado in Arcadia Bay and wiped out the whole town. I –”

“No, that was me, honey,” says Rachel. The rain slows to a merciful patter. “I was angry about dying before my time. I know a thing or two about powers.”

“You have delusions of grandeur, girl,” you say. “Are you going to tell me you caused this one, too?”

“The tides of rain ebb and flow with my emotions. What else could it be?”

“This is Seattle,” you say. “The rain here is as ever-present and unpredictable as drunk frat boys in Arcadia Bay.” Rachel’s mouth twists into a wry smile.

“Rachel,” says Max. “I saved Chloe’s life, but I couldn’t save yours. I’m sorry. I couldn’t go back that far. If I could have, I would. I swear! In one of those timelines, I was drugged and photographed, just like you were. But I was able to get out of that nightmare by going back in time.”

Kate’s lips – Rachel’s lips – part; she releases misty breaths that float off into the treetops. “That must be why your body reacted so violently when I used you to try to get close to Chloe,” she says. “We’re linked by your nightmares. But Kate…”

“No,” barks Max, cutting her off. “It was because I’m in love with Chloe.”

Her admission isn’t unexpected but still hits you like a thunderbolt. Rachel ejects a stifled laugh that sounds like it’s drowning in disbelief. “You can’t be serious,” she sneers.

“And I love her,” you snap. You don’t say it the same way Max did, but it’s the truth. You’ve never been one to fuss over words. “The way your mother loved your father. The way my mother loved my father.”

Rachel looks like she’s stunned – genuinely stunned that you’re not fawning over her and showing her the same adoration that everyone else she’d ever met does. That you see her as a flawed human being who makes mistakes just like everyone else must come as quite a shock to her.

“You don’t love me?” she says. You were probably the only person who showed her the love her father reserved exclusively for his bottles. You don’t blame her for being upset about it, now.

“Yes, I love you, Rachel. And if you love me, you’ll let me live the life that was taken from me when my father died.”

Rachel stares at you with her arms hanging limply at her sides.

“Your father needs you, Rachel. So does your mother. They need you more than you need me.” You begin to cry. Rachel’s eyes widen. “Don’t take me away from Max.”

Her face goes slack. She opens her mouth, looking down at the ground. Her shoe traces a pair of linked circles in the earth next to the barrel of the gun. “I guess…I guess I don’t have to see you right now.”

You walk toward her with slow, deliberate strides. She makes no movement. You step around the gun and take her tiny frame in your arms.

“So where do I go?” she says, shivering. “I have no home.”

The rain is a misty drizzle. The stock of the gun falls onto Kate’s shoes, but Rachel doesn’t seem to notice. Her body heaves soundlessly.

The shotgun disappears from beneath your feet; you think you hear the splashing sound of water in the distance. Kate’s thin body lightens as Max removes the rocks from her skirt pockets. Her arms are wrapped around you like a vice grip; her eyes bleed tears into the cold water that soaks your blue flannel. You stroke her damp hair with your good hand.

“We’ll take you home,” you say. In your mind, you see a lighthouse atop a hill looking out over the sunset as it sinks beneath the bay’s horizon. No matter how hard you might try, it seems you can never escape it.


	10. Tango to Evora

“Chloe Price?” said the woman behind the counter. The grey partitions of her cubicle were adorned with photos of flowers and a cat calendar. “She’s listed you as next of kin, but there doesn’t seem to be any record of your relationship to her in our database.”

“Cousin,” said Chloe. “Must have been the tornado.”

“It’s very likely. Some of our records from Arcadia Bay aren’t entirely intact. I’ll enter your information into the system.” My eyes drifted across the sterile white walls of the emergency service center while she typed.

“All right. State authorities have completed their forensic examinations and have cleared her for release. She’s currently in refrigeration in the morgue down in Tillamook. You’ll need to travel there to continue the process. You have my deepest condolences, Miss Price.”

“Thank you. Let’s go, Max.”

We rejoined Mom and Kate in Chloe’s truck. Solemn trees shedding earthen leaves watched over our silent crawl through single-lane traffic peppered with bright orange flags attached to bright orange signs: “BE PREPARED TO STOP”. We did, several times.

When we arrived in Tillamook half an hour later, Chloe followed the temporary signs that had been erected, directing those who had come to reclaim relatives and loved ones. Our path took us past a funeral home, where we used the remainder of our funds – Blackwell’s funds – to buy the sturdiest oak casket we could afford. The staff were very sympathetic to our circumstances: they offered us the most expensive mahogany casket they had available for the same price. I sensed that Mom was going to be her usual selfless self and offer to cover the difference; I put my hand on her shoulder and shook my head. She understood. Two young men helped us haul the heavy container into the back of Chloe’s truck.

The somber process of claiming Rachel’s wrapped, refrigerated remains isn’t something I want to talk about. Chloe cried. So did Mom. I couldn’t even bring myself to ask about Joyce or David. I think it would have been too much to handle.

We drove her north, back to Arcadia Bay. Much of the debris had been stacked in piles on both sides of the road, but it still looked like hell on earth. Emergency personnel crawled over rubble while construction workers used massive cranes and pulleys to hoist up fragments of familiar buildings. A police officer flagged us down in the middle of the street at a makeshift checkpoint – when he saw the coffin in the back of our truck, he waved us on.

We kept to the backroads after that. The further away from the main part of town we drove, the fewer people we saw.

When we arrived at the path that leads up to the lighthouse, Chloe used a pair of bolt cutters to snap off the chain-bound padlock holding the swinging doors of the gate shut. Once she had driven past the gate posts, she darted out and tied the thick steel links of the chain back together, deliberately placing her inexpert knots on the inward-facing side, out of sight. We followed the winding trail at a snail’s pace, narrowly squeezing through the stone-cleft fork halfway up the hill. She pulled right up to the bench that overlooks the bay, then put the truck in reverse, tracing a wide half-circle that ended next to the utility shed near the lighthouse. Her battered vehicle would shield prying eyes from our grim labors.

We clambered out of the cab; Chloe strode back to the hatch and flipped it down. Mom, Chloe, and I grabbed shovels and began breaking up hard October earth that softened as we worked. Kate stood watch by the tree trunk where Chloe and I had carved our initials a lifetime ago.

We kept digging until we couldn’t see over the top of the hole. I boosted Chloe back up to the surface; she called to Kate who appeared above us and floated down in Mom’s arms. The three of us gripped the bottom of the casket while Chloe shoved it across the cigarette-filled ridges of her truck’s bed in short, grunting bursts. When just the head of the heavy mahogany container was resting on the lip of the truck’s bed, Chloe jumped down into the hole with us and grabbed onto the left side with me. We slid it off and set it down on the soil as gently as anyone can lay the departed to rest.

Chloe knelt on the backs of her legs, placing her hand on the coffin’s lacquered cover. “I know you wouldn’t want a lengthy goodbye. We’ll see you again when it’s our time. We’ll come back and visit in May, when winter flowers bloom, and in October, when the wind swirls leaves into the colorful patterns you loved so much. Rest in peace.”

Kate crossed herself and murmured a prayer. Mom and I folded our hands and closed our eyes, offering our own silent orisons.

Chloe stood up and gave her hands to my foot; we lifted and pulled each other back to the realm of the living, here in Arcadia Bay. We took up our shovels again, spreading soft earth over Rachel’s final resting place.

“Let’s plant the daffodils,” said Chloe when we were done. She tossed her shovel into the back of her truck with a rough throwing motion. “They were her favorite.”

We knelt down and carefully seeded thick rows, depositing small amounts of fertilizer into each hole before covering it. I hoped they’d still be here, in full bloom, when we returned next year. I grabbed a plastic water bottle from the truck, but Mom stopped me.

“We won’t need to water them until spring, honey.”

Kate meandered over to the bench where she sat down, hands in her lap, and looked out at the setting sun. Mom joined her. I leaned against the side of the truck next to Chloe. She lit up a cigarette.

“I wrote you a love poem,” I said.

She laughed. “Let’s hear it.”

I took my journal out of my tote bag inside the truck and opened it up to the page where I had sketched Chloe while she drove us down here from Seattle.

> In my dreams  
>  And in my not-dreams  
>  There was no girl as warm as you  
>  Even if forgiving’s a hard thing to do  
>  Try not to fall in love while I’m away  
>  We’ll be together at the end of the day

“That’s awesome. I’d kiss you, but my mouth is full of smoke.”

“I don’t mind. The smell of smoke reminds me of you.”

She smashed the cigarette against the back of her truck, exhaling a thick grey stream up into the air as she flicked the filter into a pile of its cousins. Then, she took me in her arms and kissed me for as long as I could bear the taste of charcoal between my teeth and on my tongue.

When I opened my eyes, we were standing in each other’s arms against the side of the building, the one with the symbols on the back wall that remind me of the wind. Her strawberry blonde hair fluttered gently in the breeze. Mom had her arm around Kate on the bench; Kate’s head was resting on Mom’s shoulder, like she had fallen asleep.

“So, what do we do after this?” I asked Chloe.

“After this…” she said, as the wind ran its fingers through our hair and the sea in the distance sang our names, calling us home. _Not yet._ “After this, we live happily ever after.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> \- Karinshastha


End file.
